m:elodies. 


Satioital  %m, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS, 


THE    ODES   OF   ANACREON. 

BY 

THCMAS   MOORE,   ESQ. 


BOSTON: 

CROSBY    AXD    AINSWORTH. 
1865. 


C0NTRNT8. 


Odes  of  Anacbeon. 

Odei., 233 

Odeii 234 

Ode  iii., 23o 

Odeiv. 235 

Ode  v., 236 

Odevi 237 

Odevii., 238 

Odeviii., 239 

Odeix., .^ 240 

Odex., 241 

Odexi 241 

Odexii 242 

Odexiii., 243 

Ode  xiv., 244 

Ode  XV. 246 

Odexvi., 247 

Odexvii 249 

Odexviii., 251 

Odexix., 252 

Ode  XX., 253 


B  CONTENTS. 

P»g« 

Odexxi 25S 

OdexxU 254 

Ode  xxiii., 255 

Odexxiv 256 

Ode  XXV., 257 

Odexxvi., 258 

Odexxvii., 259 

Odexxviii., 259 

Odexxix., 260 

Ode  XXX., 261 

Odexxxi 262 

Ode  xxxii., 263 

Ode  xxxiii. , 264 

Ode  xxxiv., 266 

Ode  XXXV., 267 

Ode  xxxvi., 268 

Ode  xxxvii., 269 

Ode  xxxviii., 270 

Ode  xxxix 271 

Odexl., 272 

Odexli. • 272 

Odexlii., 273 

OdexUii., 274 

Odexliv., 275 

Odexlv., 276 

Odexlvi., 277 

Odexlvii., 278 

Odexlviii., 279 

Odexlix., 280 

Odel 280 

iBisH  Melodies. 

Go  where  Glory  waits  thee, ••  .•• 286 

Erin  !  the  Tear  and  the  Smile  in  thine  Eyes, 286 

The  Harp  that  once  through  Tara's  Halls, 287 

War  Song - 288 

Oh!  breathe  not  his  Name, 289 

Rich  and  rare  were  the  Gems  she  wore t  .289 


contents.  7 

ph». 

ds  a  Beam  o'er  the  Face  of  the  Waters  may  glow, 290 

Take  back  the  Virgin  Page, ..291 

Let  Erin  remember  the  Days  of  Old, 292 

Eveleen's  Bower, 293 

Love's  Young  Dream, 294 

Erin,  oh  Erin, 295 

I  'd  mourn  the"Hopes, 296 

Oh  the  Shamrock 297 

Farewell !  —  but  whenever  you  welcome  the  Hour, 299 

'T  is  the  last  Rose  of  Summer, 300 

Has  Sorrow  thy  young  Days  shaded 301 

The  Minstrel  Boy, 302 

Oh  !  had  we  some  bright  little  Isle  of  our  ow  n, 303 

Fill  the  Bumper  fair, 304 

As  slow  our  Ship, 306 

I  saw  from  the  Beach, 307 

In  the  Morning  of  Life, ZOi 

Where  is  the  Slave, 30J 

Wreath  the  Bowl, 3H 

Before  the  Battle, 312 

After  the  Battle, 313 

One  Bumper  at  parting, 314 

While  gazing  on  the  Moon's  Light 315 

Come  o'er  the  Sea, 316 

Come,  rest  in  this  Bosom, 317 

Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  Eyes 318 

On  Music, 319 

She  sung  of  Love 320 

Alone  in  Crowds  to  wander  on, 321 

They  know  not  my  Heart, 322 

Echo, 322 

Tho'  the  last  Glimpse  of  Erin  with  sorrow  I  see, 323 

As  vanquish'd  Erin, 324 

Weep  on,  weep  on, 325 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country, 326 

The  Mountain  Sprite, 326 

Lay  his  Sword  by  his  Side, 328 

Oh,  could  we  do  with  this  World  of  ours, 329 

Forget  not  the  Field, ^...338 


B  CONTENTS. 

If  thou 'It  be  mine, 331 

Bail  on,  sail  on, 332 

The  meeting  of  the  Waters 333 

She  is  far  from  the-  Land 333 

No,  not  more  welcome, 334 

Drink  to  her, 336 

The  Fortune-Telia' 330 

National  Aies. 

A  Temple  to  Friendship, 341 

All  that 's  Bright  must  fade, 342 

Reason,  Folly,  and  Beauty, 343 

Those  Evening  Bells, 344 

There  comes  a  Time, 345 

Love  and  Hope, 846 

The  Crystal-Hunters, 347 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  One 349 

Gayly  sounds  the  Castanet, 350 

Oft,  in  the  stilly  Night, 351 

Peace  be  around  thee, 352 

Row  gently  here, 353 

My  Harp  has  one  unchanging  Theme 354 

Come,  chase  that  starting  Tear  away, 355 

Who  '11  buy  my  Love-Knots  ? 356 

Bright  be  thy  Dreams 357 

Like  one  who,  doom'd, 358 

Though  'tis  all  but  a  Dream, 359 

Joys  of  Youth,  now  fleeting, 360 

Love  is  a  Hunter-Boy, 361 

Flow  on,  thou  shining  River, 362 

Go,  then  —  'tis  vain, 363 

Where  shall  we  bury  our  Shame  ? 364 

Take  hence  the  Bowl, 365 

Hark  !  the  Vesper  Hymn  is  stealing, 366 

When  through  the  Piazetta, 367 

When  abroad  in  the  World, 368 

When  Love  is  kind, 369 

Keep  those  E;~es  still  purely  mine, 370 


Hear  me  but  Once, •   370 

Thou  lov'st  no  More 371 

Here  sleeps  the  Bard, 372 

Do  not  say  that  Life  is  waning, 372 

If  in  loving  singing, 373 

Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Lines  written  on  leaving  Philadelphia, 377 

A  Canadian  Boat  Song, 378 

To  the  Fire-Fly, 379 

The  Steersman's  Song, 380 

Written  on  passing  Deadman's  Island, 381 

The  Torch  of  Liberty, 382 

This  World  is  all  a  fleeting  Show, 384 

Oh,  teach  me  to  love  thee, 385 

Weep  not  for  those, 386 

A  Ballad.     The  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp, 387 

Song  of  the  Evil  Spirit  of  the  Woods, 389 

Lines  written  at  the  Cohos,  or  Falls   of   the   Mohawk 

River, 391 

The  Turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  Shrine, 392 

Youth  and  Age, 393 

The  dying  Warrior, 394 

Merrily  every  Bosom  boundeth, 396 

The  Magic  Mirror 397 

The  Fancy  Fair, 398 

Her  last  Words  at  parting 400 

Ballad  Stanzas, 401 

Sale  of  Cupid, ". 402 

Come,  ye  Disconsolate, 403 

The  meeting  of  the  Ships, 403 

The  Exile 404 

As  down  in  the  sunless  Retreats, 405 

Rose  of  the  Desert 405 

Sound  the  l)ud  Timbrel, 406 

Long  Years  have  pass'd 407 

Tell  her,  oh,  tell  her, • 408 

Oh,  call  it  by  some  better  Name, 401 


lO  CONTENTS. 

Fancy, ,409 

To  the  Flying  Fish 410 

The  Day-Dream, 411 

Boat  Glee 413 

Song, 414 

Come,  play  me  that  simple  Air  again, ^ 415 

Song, ,.. 416 

Sovereign  Woman, 417 

At  Night 419 

Rondeau, .     ..fif 


ODES    OF    ANACREON. 


ODE  1. 

I  SAW  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure, 
The  minstrel  of  the  Teian  measure 
T  was  in  a  vision  of  the  night, 
He  beam'd  upon  my  wondering  sight 
I  heard  his  voice,  and  warmly  press*© 
The  dear  enthusiast  to  my  breast 
His  tresses  wore  a  s jvery   \^  i 
But  Beauty  sparkled  in  his  eye ; 
Sparkled  in  his  eyes  of  fire. 
Through  the  mist  of  soft  desire. 
His  lip  exhaled,  whene'er  he  sigh'd, 
The  fragrance  of  the  racy  tide  ; 
And,  as  with  weak  and  reeling  feet 
He  came  my  cordial  kiss  to  meet. 
An  infant,  of  the  Cyprian  band, 
Guided  him  on  with  tender  hand. 
Quick  from  his  glowing  brows  he  drew 
His  braid,  of  many  a  wanton  hue ; 
I  took  the  wreath,  whose  inmost  twine 
Breathed  of  him  and  blush'd  with  wine, 
I  hung  it  o'er  my  thoughtless  brow, 
And  ah  !  I  feel  its  magic  now : 
I  feel  that  even  his  garland's  touch 
Can  make  the  bosom  love  too  much 


ODE  II. 

Gn  E  mf  the  harp  of  epic  song, 
Which  Homer's  finger  thrill'd  along  ; 
But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing. 
Proclaim  the  laws  of  festal  rite, 
I  'm  monarch  of  the  board  to-night 
And  all  around  shall  brim  as  high, 
And  quafi"  the  tide  as  deep  as  I. 
And  when  the  cluster's  mellowing  dews 
Their  warm  enchanting  balm  infuse, 
Our  feet  shall  catch  th'  elastic  bound 
And  ree.  us  through  the  dance's  round. 
Great  Bacchus !  we  shall  sing  to  thee. 
In  wild  bui  sweet  ebriety  ; 
Flashmg  around  such  sparks  of  thought 
As  Bacchus  could  alone  have  taught 

Then,  give  the  harp  of  epic  song. 
Which  Homer's  finger  thrill'd  along ; 
But  tear  away  the  panguine  string. 
For  war  is  not  the  Ui^noo  I  aing 


235 


ODE  III. 

Listen  to  the  Muse's  l3rrB, 
Master  of  the  pencil's  fire ! 
Sketch'd  in  painting's  bold  dispute 
Many  a  city  first  portray  ; 
Many  a  city,  revelling  free, 
Full  of  loose  festivity. 
Picture  then  a  rosy  train,     . 
Bacchants  straying  o'er  tlie  plain  , 
Piping,  as  they  roam  along, 
Roundelay  or  shepherd-song. 
Paint  me  next,  if  painting  mav 
Such  a  theme  as  this  portray, 
All  the  earth'v  heaven  of  love 
These  delighted  mortals  prove. 


OOE  «V 


Vulcan  !  hear  your  glorious  task 
I  do  not  from  your  labors  ask 
In  gorgeous  panoply  to  shine, 
For  war  was  ne'er  a  sport  of  mine 
No  —  let  me  have  a  silver  bowl, 
Where  I  may  cradle  all  my  soul ; 


836  OUES    OF    A\AjREOn. 

But  mind  that,  o'er  its  simple  frame 
No  mimic  constellations  flame ; 
Nor  grave  upon  the  swelling  side 
Orion,  scowling  o'er  the  tide. 
I  care  not  for  the  glitt'ring  wain, 
Nor  yet  the  weeping  sister  train. 
But  let  the  vine  luxuriant  roll 
Its  flushing  tendrils  round  the  bowl, 
While  many  a  rose-lipp'd  bacchant  maid 
Is  cullmg  clusters  in  their  shade 
Let  sylvan  gods,  in  antic  shapes, 
Wildly  press  the  gushing  grapes, 
And  flights  of  Loves,  in  wanton  play, 
,  Wing  through  the  air  their  winding  way  i 

While  Venus  from  her  harbor  green, 
Looks  laughing  at  the  joyous  scene, 
And  young  Lyaeus  by  her  side 
Sits,  wortliy  of  so  bright  a  bride. 


ODE  V. 


ScuLPTOR,*wouldst  thou  giau  my  soul 

Grave  for  me  an  ample  bowl, 

Worthy  to  shine  in  hall  oi  bower. 

When  spring-time  brings  the  reveller's  hoiK 

Grave  it  with  themes  of  chaste  design. 

Fit  for  a  simple  board  like  mine. 

Display  not  there  the  barbarous  rites 

?n  which  religious  zeal  delights 


(»DE9  OK    .n\(;reon.  237 

Nor  any  talc  of  tragic  fate 

Which  History  shudders  to  re.ate. 

No  —cull  thy  fancies  from  above, 

Themes  of  heav'n  and  themes  of  love. 

Let  Bacchus,  Jove's  ambrosial  boy,~ 

Distil  the  grape  in  drops  of  joy. 

And  while  he  smiles  at  every  tear, 

Let  warm-eyed  Venus,  dancing  near. 

With  spirits  of  tlie  genial  bed, 

The  dewy  herbage  deftly  tread. 

Let  Love  be  there,  without  his  arms, 

In  timid  nakedness  of  charms  ; 

And  all  the  Graces,  link'd  witli  Love. 

Stray,  laughing,  through  the  shadowy  grove 

While  rosy  boys  disporting  roiinu. 

In  circlets  trip  the  velvet  ground 

But  ah  !  if  there  Apollo  toys, 

I  tremble  for  the  rosy  boys 


ODE  VL 


As  late  I  sought  the  spangleti  D«.  >vei«, 
To  cull  a  wreath  of  matin  flowers. 
Where  many  an  early  rose  was  weeping, 
I  found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeping. 
I  caught  the  boy,  a  goblet's  tide 
Was  richly  mantling  by  my  side, 
I  caught  him  by  his  downy  wing, 
And  whelm'd  him  in  the  racy  spring 


238  ODES    OF   ANACREON. 

Then  drank  I  down  the  poison'd  bowl 
And  Love  now  nestles  in  my  souL 
Oh  yes,  my  soul  is  Cupid's  nest, 
I  feel  him  flutterinsr  in  my  breast 


ODE  VIL 

The  women  tell  me  every  day 
That  all  my  bloom  has  pass'd  away 
"  Behold,"  the  pretty  wantons  cry, 
"  Behold  this  mirror  with  a  sigh ; 
The  locks  upon  tiiy  brow  are  few. 
And,  like  the  rest,  they  're  withering  wa 
Whether  decline  has  thinn'd  my  hair, 
I  'm  sure  I  neither  know  nor  care ; 
But  this  I  know,  and  this  I  feel. 
As  onward  to  the  tomb  I  steal, 
That  still  as  death  approaches  neaier. 
The  joys  of  life  are  sweeter,  dearer , 
And  had  I  but  aji  \t  lur.ta  live. 
That  little  hour  to  biiss  1  'd  give 


I  CLKF.  not  for  the  idle  siate 

Of  Persia's  king,  tne  rich,  the  great 

1  envv  not  the  monarch's  tlirone, 

Nor  wish  the  treasured  gold  my  own 

But  oh !  be  mine  the  rosy  wreath, 

Its  freshness  o'er  my  brow  to  breatlie ; 

Be  mine  the  ricii  perfumes  that  flow, 

To  cool  and  scent  my  locks  of  snow. 

To-day  I  '11  haste  to  quaff  my  wine, 

As  if  to-morrow  ne'er  would  shine  ; 

But  if  to-morrow  comes,  why  then 

I  '11  haste  to  quaff  my  wine  again. 

And  thus  while  all  our  days  are  bright. 

Nor  time  has  dimm'd  their  bloomy  light, 

Let  us  the  festal  hours  beguile 

With  mantling  cup  and  cordial  smile  ; 

And  shed  from  each  new  bowl  of  wine 

The  richest  drop  on  Bacchus'  shrine. 

For  Death  may  come,  with  brow  unpleasant, 

May  come,  when  least  we  wish  him  preeent. 

And  beckon  to  the  saDle  shore. 

And  grimly  bid  us  —  drink  no  more 


i4C 


ODE  IX, 

I  PRAT  thee,  by  the  gods  above. 
Give  me  the  mighty  bowl  I  love, 
And  let  me  sing,  in  wild  delight, 
'  I  will  —  I  will  be  mad-  to-night !  ** 
Alcmaeon  once,  as  legends  tell, 
Was  frenzied  by  the  fiends  of  hell ; 
Orestes  too,  with  naked  tread, 
Frantic  paced  the  mountain-head ; 
And  why  ?  a  murder'd  mother's  shade 
Haunted  them  still  where'er  they  stray  ■? 
But  ne'er  could  I  a  murderer  be, 
The  grape  alone  shall  bleed  by  me , 
Yet  can  I  shout,  witli  wild  delignt, 
«  I  will  —  I  will  be  mad  to-night !  " 

Alcides'  self,  in  days  of  yore, 
In  brued  his  hands  in  youthful  gore. 
And  brandish'd,  with  a  maniac  _'oy, 
The  quiver  of  th'  expiring  boy  : 
And  Ajax,  with  tremendous  shield, 
Infuriate  scour'd  the  guiltless  field. 
But  I,  whose  hands  no  weapon  ask, 
No  armor  but  this  joyous  flask  ; 
The  trophy  of  whose  frantic  hours 
Is  but  8  scatter'd  wreath  of  flowers, 
Ev'n  1  can  sing  with  wild  delight, 
^  I  will  —  I  will  be  mad  to-night !  " 


•M] 


ODE  X. 

How  am  I  to  punish  thee, 
For  the  wrong  thou  'st  done  to  n» 
Silly  swallow,  prating  thing  — 
Shall  I  clip  tliat  wheeling  wing  ? 
Or,  as  Tereus  did,  of  old, 
(So  the  fabled  tale  is  told,) 
Shall  I  tear  that  tongue  away, 
Tongue  that  utter'd  such  a  lay  r 
Ah,  how  thoughtless  hast  thou 
Long  before  the  dawn  was  sein, 
When  a  dream  came  o'er  ray  mind. 
Picturing  her  I  worship,  kind. 
Just  when  I  was  nearly  biesc, 
Loud  thy  matins  broke  my  rest ! 


ODE  XL 


"  Tell  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  theft 

What  in  purchase  shall  I  pay  thee 

For  this  little  waxen  toy, 

Image  of  the  Paphian  boy  ?  " 

Thus  I  said,  the  other  day, 

To  a  youth  who  pass'd  my  way  < 


842  ODES    O*     aNACREOW. 

"  Sir,"  (lie  answer'd,  and  the  while 
Ansvver'd  all  in  Doric  style,) 
"  Take  it,  for  a  trifle  take  it ; 
'T  was  not  I  who  dared  to  make  u  , 
'    No,  believe  me,  't  was  not  I ; 
Oh,  it  has  cost  me  many  a  sigh. 
And  I  can  no  longer  keep 
Little  gods,  who  murder  sleep !  " 
"  Here,  then,  here,"  (I  said  with  joy,} 
"  Here  is  silver  for  tlie  boy : 
He  shall  be  my  bosom  guest, 
Idol  of  my  pious  breast !  " 
Now,  young  Love,  I  have  thee  mine, 
Warm  me  with  that  torch  of  thine ; 
Make  me  feel  as  1  have  felt, 
Or  thy  waxen  frame  shall  melt : 
I  must  burn  with  warm  desire, 
Or  thou,  my  boy  —  in  yonder  fire 


ODE  XII 


They  tell  how  Atys,  wild  with  love, 
Roams  the  mount  and  haunted  grove  5 
Cybele's  name  l)e  howls  around, 
The  gloomy. blast  returns  the  sound! 
Oft  too.  by  Claros'  haunted  spring, 
The  votaries  of  tlie  laurell'd  king 
Quaff  the  inspiring,  magic  stream, 
Aai  rave  in  wild,  prophetic  dream. 


UUEH    OF    ANACREON.  94i 

But  frenzied  dreams  are  not  for  me 

Great  Bacchus  is  my  deity ! 
Full  of  mirth  and  full  of  him, 
While  floating  odors  round  me  swim, 
While  mantling  bowls  are  full  supplied 
And  you  sit  blushing  by  my  side, 
I  will  be  mad  and  raving  too  — 
Mad,  my  girl,  with  love  for  you ! 


ODE  XIII. 


I  WILL,  I  will,  the  conflict 's  past. 

And  1 11  consent  to  love  at  last. 

Cupid  has  long,  with  smiling  art. 

Invited  me  to  yield  my  heart ; 

And  I  have  thought  that  peace  of  mind 

Should  not  be  for  a  smile  resign'd : 

And  so  repell'd  the  tender  lure, 

And  hoped  my  heart  would  sleep  secure. 


But,  slighted- in  his  boasted  chr.nns. 
The  angry  infant  flew  to  arms  ; 
He  slung  his  quiver's  golden  frame. 
He  took  his  bow,  his  shafts  of  flame, 
And  proudly  summon'd  me  to  yield. 
Or  meet  him  on  the  martial  field. 
And  wliat  did  I  unthinking  do  ? 
I  took  to  arms,  undaunted,  too  • 


244  ODES    OF    ANACREOPi. 

Assumed  the  corslot,  shield,  and  spear, 
And,  like  Pelides,  siniled  at  fear. 
Then  (hear  it,  all  ye  powers  above !  ) 
I  fought  with  Love !  I  fought  with  Lcve 
And  now  his  arrows  all  were  shed, 
And  I  had  just  in  terror  fled  — 
When,  heaving  an  indignant  sigh, 
To  see  me  thus  unwounded  fly. 
And,  having  now  no  other  dart. 
He  shot  himself  into  my  heart ! 
My  heart  —  alas  the  luckless  day  ! 
Received  the  god,  and  died  away. 
Farewell,  farewell,  my  faithless  shield 
Thy  lord  at  length  is  forced  to  yield. 
Vain,  vain,  is  every  outward  care, 
The  foe 's  within,  and  triumphs  there. 


ODE   XIV. 


Count  me,  or.  the  summer  trees, 
Every  leaf  thai  courts  the  breeze , 
Count  me,  On  the  foamy  deep. 
Every  wave  that  sinks  to  sleep , 
Then,  when  you  have  number'd  these 
Billowy  tides  and  leafy  trees. 
Count  me  all  the  flames  I  prove, 
All  the  gentle  nymphs  I  lo^e. 
First,  of  pure  Athenian  maids 
Spoling  in  their  olive  shades. 


ODES    OF    ANACREOJS. 


243 


You  may  reckon  just  a  score, 
Nay,  I  '11  grant  you  fifteen  more. 
In  the  famed  Corintliian  grove, 
Where  such  countless  wantons  rove, 
Chains  of  beauties  may  be  found, 
Chains,  by  which  my  heart  is  bound ; 
There,  indeed,  are  nymphs  divine, 
Dangerous  to  a  soul  like  mine. 
Many  bloom  in  Lesbos'  isle  ; 
Many  in  Ionia  smile ; 
Rhodes  a  pretty  swarm  can  boast; 
Caria  too  contains  a  host. 
Sum  them  all  —  of  brown  and  fair 
You  may  count  two  thousand  there. 
What,  you  stare  ?  I  pray  you,  peace 
More  I  '11  find  before  I  cease. 
Have  I  told  you  all  my  flames, 
'Mong  the  amorous  Syrian  dames  ? 
Have  I  number'd  every  one, 
Glowing  under  Egypt's  sun  ? 
Or  the  nymphs,  who,  blushing  sweeSj 
Deck  the  shrine  of  Love  in  Crete ; 
Where  the  God,  with  festal  play, 
.  Holds  eternal  holiday  ? 
Still  in  clusters,  still  remain 
Gades'  warm,  desiring  train  ; 
Still  there  lies  a  myriad  more 
On  the  sable  India's  shore  ; 
These,  and  many  far  removed, 
AU  are  loving  —  all  are  loved 
ai* 


246 


ODE  XV 

Teli.  jie,  why,  ray  sweetest  dovej, 
Thus  your  humid  pinions  move, 
Shedding  through  the  air  in  showen 
Essence  of  the  balmiest  flowers  ? 
Tell  me  whither,  whence  you  rove, 
Tell  me  all,  my  sweetest  dove 


Cunous  stranger,  I  belong 

To  the  bard  of  Teian  song ; 

With  his  mandate  now  I  fly 

To  the  nymph  of  azure  eye ;  — 

She,  whose  eye  has  madden'd  many 

But  the  poet  more  than  any. 

Venus,  for  a  hymn  of  love. 

Warbled  in  her  votive  grove, 

('T  was  in  sooth  a  gentle  lay,) 

Gave  me  to  the  bard  away. 

See  me  now  his  faithful  minion.  — 

Thus  with  softly-gliding  pinion, 

To  his  lovely  girl  I  bear 

Songs  of  passion  through  the  air. 

Oft  he  blandly  whispers  me, 

"  Soon,  my  bird,  1 11  set  you  free." 

But  in  vain  he  'U  bid  me  fly, 

I  shall  serve  him  till  I  die. 

Never  could  my  plumes  sustain 

Ruffling  winds  and  chilling  rain, 


"~\ 


ODES    OF    ANACREON.  347 

O'er  ti.  e  plains,  or  in  the  dell, 
On  the  mountain's  savage  swell. 
Seeking  in  the  desert  wood 
Gloomy  shelter,  rustic  food. 
Now  I  lead  a  life  of  ease, 
Far  from  rustic  haunts  like  these. 
From  Anacreon's  hand  I  eat 
Food  delicious,  viands  sweet ; 
Flutter  o'er  his  goblet's  brim, 
Sip  the  foamy  wine  with  him. 
Then  when  I  have  wanton'd  round 
To  his  lyre's  beguiling  sound ; 
Or  with  gently-moving  wings 
Fann'd  the  minstrel  while  he  sing* 
On  his  harp  I  sink  in  slumbers, 
Dreaming  still  of  dulcet  numbers ! 


rhifl  is  aU  —  away  —  away  — 
You  have  made  me  waste  the  day. 
HowT  've  chatter'd  !  prating  crow 
Never  yet  did  chatter  so. 


ODE  XVL 


Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues 
Mimic  form  and  soul  infusf; 
Best  of  painters,  come,  portray 
The  lovely  maid  that 's  far  away 


348  ODES    OF    ANACREOn. 

Par  away,  my  soul !  thou  art, 
But  I  've  thy  beauties  all  by  heait. 
Paint  her  jetty  ringlets  playing, 
Silky  locks,  like  tendrils  straying 
And,  if  painting  hath  the  skill 
To  make  the  spicy  balm  distil, 
Let  every  little  lock  exhale 
A  sigh  of  perfume  on  the  gait 
Where  her  tresses'  curly  flow- 
Darkles  o'er  the  brow  of  snow, 
Let  her  forehead  beam  to  light, 
Burnish'd  as  the  ivory  bright. 
Let  her  eyebrows  smoothly  rise 
In  jetty  arches  o'er  her  eyes. 
Each,  a  crescent  gently  gliding. 
Just  commingling,  just  dividing. 


But,  hast  thou  any  sparkles  warm, 
The  lightning  of  her  eyes  to  form  / 
Let  them  effuse  the  azure  rays 
That  in  Minerva's  glances  blaze^ 
Mix'd  with  the  liquid  light  that  lie* 
In  Cytherea's  languid  eyes. 
O'er  her  nose  and  cheek  be  shed 
Flushing  white  and  soften'd  red  ; 
Mingling  tints,  as  when  there  glow* 
In  snowy  milk  the  bashful  rose. 
Then  her  lip,  so  rich  in  blisses, 
Sweet  petitioner  for  Idsses, 
Rosy  nest,  where  lurks  Persuasion, 
Mutely  courting  Love's  invasion. 
Next,  beneath  the  velvet  chin. 
Whose  dimple  hides  a  Love  within. 


ODES    OF    ANACREON.  M9 

Mould  her  neck  with  grace  descending, 
In  a  heaven  of  beauty  ending ; 
While  countless  charms,  above,  below^ 
Sport  and  flutter  round  its  snow. 
Now  let  a  floating,  lucid  veil 
Shadow  her  form,  but  not  conceal ; 
A  charm  may  peep,  a  hue  may  beam. 
And  leave  the  rest  to  Fancy's  dream. 
Enough  —  't  is  she  !  't  is  all  I  seek  ; 
It  glows,  it  lives,  it  soon  will  speak ! 


ODE  xvn. 


Am)  now  with  all  thy  pencil's  truth. 

Portray  Bathyllus,  lovely  youth ! 

Let  his  hair,  in  masses  bright,* 

Fall  like  floating  rays  of  light ; 

And  there  the  raven's  dye  confuse 

With  the  golden  sunbeam's  hues. 

Let  no  wreafJi,  with  artful  twine. 

The  flowing  of  his  locks  confine ; 

But  leave  them  loose  to  every  breeze, 

To  take  what  shape  and  course  they  pleasak 

Beneath  the  forehead,  fa.r  as  snow. 

But  flush'd  with  manhood's  early  glow, 

And  guileless  as  tlie  dews  of  dawn, 

Let  the  majestic  brows  be  drawn, 

Of  ebon  hue,  enrich'd  by  gold. 

Such  as  dark,  shining  snakes  unfold. 


950  ODES    OF    ANACREON. 

Mix  in  his  eyes  the  power  alike, 
With  love  to  win,  with  awe  to  strike ; 
Borrow  from  Mars  his  look  of  ire, 
From  Venus  her  soft  glance  of  tire ; 
Blend  them  in  such  expression  here, 
That  we  by  turns  may  hope  and  fear ! 

Now  from  the  sunny  apple  seek 

The  velvet  down  that  spreads  his  cheek , 

And  there,  if  art  so  far  can  go, 

Th'  ingenious  blush  of  boyhood  show. 

While,  for  his  mouth  —  but  no,  —  in  vain 

Would  words  its  witching  charm  explaia 

Make  it  the  very  seat,  the  throne. 

That  Eloquence  would  claim  her  own ; 

And  let  the  lips,  though  silent,  wear 

A  life-look,  as  if  words  were  there. 

Next  thou  his  ivory  neck  must  trace, 
Moulded  with  soft  but  manly  grace ; 
Fair  as  the  neck  of  Paphia's  boy, 
Where  Paphia's  arms  have  hung  in  joy. 
Give  him  the  winged  Hermes'  hand. 
With  which  he  waves  his  snaky  wand  ; 
Let  Bacchus  the  broad  chest  supply. 
And  Leda's  sons  the  sinewy  thigh ; 
While,  through  his  whole  transparent  frame 
Thou  show'st  the  stirrings  of  that  flame, 
Which  kindles,  when  the  first  love-sigh 
Steals  from  the  heart,  unconscious  why. 
But  sure  thy  pencil,  though  so  bright, 
Is  envious  of  the  eye's  delight, 
Or  its  enamor'd  touch  would  show 
The  shoulder,  fair  as  sunless  snow 


ODES    OF    ANACREOn.  2Si 

Which  now  in  veiling  shadow  lies, 
Removed  from  all  but  Fancy's  eyes. 
Now,  for  his  feet  —  but  hold  —  forbear  — 
I  see  the  sun-god's  portrait  there  ; 
Why  paint  Batliyllus  ?  when,  in  truth. 
There,  in  that  god,  thou  'st  sketch'd  the  yoath 
Enough  —  let  tliis  bright  form  be  mine, 
And  send  the  boy  to  Samos'  shrine ; 
Phcebus  shall  then  Bathyllus  be, 
Bathyllus  then,  the  deity ! 


ODE  XVIIL 


Now  the  star  of  day  is  high, 
Fly,  my  girls,  in  pity  J9y, 
Bring  me  ^ine  in  brimming  uins. 
Cool  my  lip,  it  burns,  it  burns ! 
Sunn'd  by  the  meridian  fire. 
Panting,  languid,  I  expire. 
Give  me  all  those  humid  flowers, 
Drop  them  o'er  my  brow  in  showers. 
Scarce  a  breathing  chaplet  now 
Lives  upon  my  feverish  brow ; 
Every  dewy  rose  I  wear 
Sheds  its  tears,  and  withers  there, 
But  to  you,  my  burning  heart. 
What  can  now  relief  impart  ? 
Can  brimming  bowl,  or  flowret's  dew 
Cool  the  flame  that  scorches  you  ? 


25S2 


ODE  XIX 

Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid, 
Sweet  in  this  embowering  shade ; 
Sweet  the  young,  the  modest  treec, 
Ruffled  by  the  kissing  breeze  ; 
Sweet  the  little  founts  that  weep, 
Lulling  soft  the  mind  to  sleep ; 
Hark !  they  whisper  as  they  roU, 
Calm  persuasion  to  the  soul ; 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  is  not  this 
All  a  stilly  scene  of  bliss  ? 
Who,  my  girl,  would  pass  it  by  ? 
Surely  neither  you  nor  I. 


ODE  XX. 


Oine  day  the  Muses  twined  the  hand* 
Of  infant  Love  with  flow'ry  bands  ; 
And  to  celestial  Beauty  gave 
The  captive  infant  for  her  slave. 
His  mother  comes,  with  many  a  toy, 
To  ransom  her  beloved  boy ; 
His  mother  sues,  but  all  in  vain,  — 
He  ne'er  will  leave  his  chains  again 


ODES  or  An«cREON  25SI 

Even  should  they  take  his  chains  away< 
The  little  captive  still  would  stay. 
"  If  this,"  he  criea,  "  a  bondage  be, 
Oh,  who  could  wiah  for  liberty  ?  " 


'^^  "    ' 


ODE  XXL 

Observe  when  mother  earth  is  dry, 
She  drinks  the  droppings  of  the  sky, 
And  then  the  dewy  cordial  gives 
To  ev'ry  thirsty  plant  that  lives. 
The  vapors,  which  at  evening  weep, 
Are  beverage  to  the  swelling  deep ; 
And  when  the  rosy  sun  appears, 
lie  drinks  the  ocean's  misty  tears. 
The  moon  too  quaffs  her  paly  stream 
Of  lustre,  from  the  solar  beam. 
Then,  hence  with  all  your  sober  thinking  ( 
Since  Natire's  holy  law  is  drinking; 
I  '11  make  the  laws  of  nature  mine, 
And  pledge  the  universe  in  wine. 


254 


ODE  XXIf. 

The  Phrygian  rock,  that  braves  the  eto  10^ 
Was  once  a  weeping  matron's  form ; 
And  Progue,  hapless,  frantic  maid, 
Is  now  a  swallow  in  the  shade. 
Oh !  that  a  mirror's  form  were  mine. 
That  I  might  catch  that  smile  divine ; 
And  like  my  own  fond  fancy  be, 
Reflecting  thee,  and  only  thee ; 
Or  could  I  be  the  robe  which  holds 
That  graceful  form  within  its  folds ; 
Or,  turn'd  into  a  fountain,  lave 
Thy  beauties  in  my  circling  wave. 
Would  I  were  perfume  for  thy  hair, 
To  breathe  my  soul  in  fragrance  there ; 
Or,  better  still,  the  zone,  that  lies 
Close  to  thy  breast,  and  feels  its  sighs ' 
Or  e'en  those  envious  pearls  that  show 
So  faintly  round  that  neck  of  snow  — 
Yes,  I  would  be  a  happy  gem. 
Like  them  to  hang,  to  fade  like  them 
What  more  would  thy  Anacreon  be 
Or,  any  thing  that  touches  thee  ; 
Nay  sandals  for  those  airy  feet  — 
E'en  to  be  trod  bv  them  were  sweet! 


^255 


ODE  xxm. 

1  fiFTEN  wish  this  languid  lyre, 
This  warbler  of  my  soul's  desire, 
Could  raise  the  breath  of  song  sublimit 
To  men  of  fame,  in  former  time. 
But  when  the  soaring  theme  I  try, 
Along  the  chords  my  numbers  die. 
And  whisper,  with  dissolving  tone, 
"  Our  sighs  are  given  to  love  alone  ! " 
Indignant  at  the  feeble  lay, 
f  tore  the  panting  chords  away, 
Attuned  them  to  a  nobler  swell, 
And  struck  again  the  breathing  shell ; 
In  all  the  glow  of  epic  fire, 
To  Hercules  I  wake  the  l3n'e. 
But  still  its  fainting  sighs  repeat, 
"  The  tale  of  love  alone  is  sweet !  " 
Then  fare  thee  well,  seductive  dream, 
That  mad'st  me  follow  Glory's  theme  5 
For  thou  my  lyre,  and  thou  my  heart. 
Shall  never  more  in  spirit  part ; 
And  all  that  one  has  felt  so  well 
The  other  shall  as  sweetlv  tell  1 


Hit) 


ODE  xxnr 

To  all  that  breattte  .ae  air  of  heaven. 
Some  boon  of  strength  has  Nature  giveiL 
In  forming  the  majestic  bull, 
She  fenced  with  wreathed  horns  his  skall 
A  hoof  of  strength  she  lent  the  steed, 
And  wing'd  the  timorous  hare  with  soeed. 
She  gave  the  Uon  fangs  of  terror,- 
And  o'er  the  ocean's  crystal  mirror, 
Taught  the  unnumber'd  scaly  throng 
To  trace  their  liquid  path  along ; 
While  for  the  umbrage  of  the  grove. 
She  plumed  the  warbling  world  of  lova 

To  man  she  gave,  in  that  proud  hour. 
The  boon  of  intellectual  power. 
Then,  what,  oh  woman,  what,  for  thee, 
Was  left  in  Nature's  treasury  ? 
She  gave  thee  beauty  —  mightier  far 
Than  all  the  pomp  and  power  of  war. 
Nor  steel,  nor  fire  itself  hath  power 
Like  woman  in  her  conquering  hour. 
Be  thou  but  fair,  mankind  adore  thee. 
Smile,  and  a  world  is  weak  before  thre ! 


257 


ODE  XXV. 

OwcE  in  each  revolving  year, 
Gentle  bird !  we  find  tliee  here. 
When  Nature  wears  her  summer-veat. 
Thou  com'st  to  weave  thy  simple  nert 
But  when  the  chilling  winter  lowers. 
Agaiij  thou  seek'st  the  genial  bow  ;n 
Of  Memphis,  or  the  shores  of  Nile, 
Where  sunny  hours  for  ever  smile. 
And  thus  thy  pinion  rests  and  roves, — 
Alas !  unlike  the  swarm  of  Loves, 
That  brood  within  this  hapless  breast, 
And  never,  never  change  tlieir  nest ! 
Still  every  year,  and  all  the  year, 
They  fix  their  fated  dwelling  here ; 
And  some  their  infant  plumage  try, 
And  on  a  tender  winglet  fly  ; 
While  in  the  shell,  impregn'd  with  fireSj 
Still  lurk  a  thousand  more  desires  ; 
Some  from  their  tiny  prisons  peeping. 
And  some  in  formless  embryo  sleeping. 


Thus  peopled,  like  the  vernal  groves, 
My  breast  resounds  with  warbling  Loveii 
One  urchin  imps  the  other's  feather, 
Then  twin-desires  they  wing  together, 
And  fast  as  they  thus  take  their  flight. 
Still  other  urchins  soring  to  light. 

522* 


ODES    UF    A^ACRBON. 

But  is  there  then  no  kindly  art, 
To  chase  these  Cupids  from  my  heart  ? 
Ah,  no !  I  fear,  in  sadness  fear, 
They  will  for  e\er  nestle  here ! 


ODE  XXVL 


Tht  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms, 
Or  tell  the  tale  of  Theban  arms ; 
With  other  wars  my  song  shall  burn. 
For  other  wounds  my  harp  shall  mourn. 
T  was  not  the  crested  warrior's  dart, 
That  drank  the  current  of  my  heart ; 
Nor  naval  arms,  nor  mailed  steed, 
Have  made  this  vanquish'd  bosom  bleed 
No  —  't  was  from  eyes  of  liquid  blue, 
A  host  of  quiver'd  Cupids  flew ; 
And  now  my  heart  all  bleeding  lies 
Beneath  that  army  of  the  eyes ! 


•25«J 


ODE  XXVIl. 

We  read  the  flying  courser's  name 
Upon  his  side,  in  marks  of  flame ; 
And,  by  their  turban'd  brows  alone, 
The  warriors  of  the  East  are  known. 
But  in  the  lover's  glowing  eyes, 
The  inlet  to  his  bosom  lies ; 
Through  them  we  see  the  small  faint  mark. 
Where  Love  has  dropp'd  his  burning  spark. 


ODE  XXVIII. 


\a,  by  his  Lepinian  forge's  flame, 
The  husband  of  the  Paphian  dame 
Moulded  the  glowing  steel,  to  form 
Arrows  for  Cupid,  thrilling  warm  ; 
And  Venus,  as  he  plied  nis  an. 
Shed  honey  round  eacn  new-made  dart. 
While  Love,  at  hand,  to  finish  all, 
Tipp'd  every  arrow's  point  with  gall ; 
It  chanced  the  Lord  of  Battles  came 
To  visit  that  deep  cave  of  flame. 
T  was  from  the  ranks  of  war  he  rush'd 
His  spear  with  many  a  life-drop  blush' J  ; 


3G0  ODE3    OF    AWACREOn. 

He  saw  the  fiery  darts,  and  smiled 

Contemptuous  at  the  archer-child. 

''  What ! "  said  the  urchin,  "  dost  thou  smile  ? 

Here,  hold  this  little  dart  awhile, 

And  tliou  wilt  find,  though  swift  of  flight, 

My  bolts  are  not  so  feathery  light" 


Mars  took  the  shaft  —  and,  oh,  thy  look 
Sweet  Venus,  when  the  sliaft  he  took !  - 
Sighing,  he  felt  the  urchin's  art, 
And  cried,  in  agony  of  heart, 
"  It  is  not  light  —  I  sink  with  pain  I 
Take  —  take  thy  arrow  back  again." 
"  No,"  said  tlie  child,  "  it  must  not  be ; 
That  little  dart  was  made  for  thee ! " 


ODE  XXIX. 


Yes  — loving  is  a  painful  thrill. 
And  not  to  love  more  painful  still ; 
But  oh,  it  is  tlie  worst  of  pain. 
To  love  and  not  be  loved  again  ! 
Affection  now  has  fled  from  earth, 
Nor  fire  of  genius,  noble  birth, 
Nor  heavenly  virtue,  can  beguile 
From  beauty's  cheek  one  favormg  smile 
Gold  is  the  woman's  only  theme, 
GoJd  is  the  woman's  only  dream. 


ODES    OF    AIVACREOM.  261 

Oh  !  never  be  that  wretch  fbrgiven  — 
Forgive  him  not,  indignant  heaven ! 
Whose  grovelling  eyes  could  first  adore, 
Whose  heart  could  pant  for  sordid  ore. 
Since  that  devoted  thirst  began, 
Man  has  forgot  to  feel  for  man ; 
The  pulse  of  social  life  is  dead, 
And  ay  its  tender  feelings  fled  ! 
War  too  has  sullied  Nature's  charma, 
For  goiJ  provokes  the  world  to  arniM  • 
And  oh !  the  worst  of  all  its  arts, 
It  rends  asunder  loving  hearts. 


ODE  XXX. 


T  WAS  in  a  mocking  dream  of  night    » 

I  fancied  I  had  wings  as  light 

As  a  young  bird's,  and  flew  as  fleet ; 

While  Love,  around  whose  beauteous  feet, 

I  knew  not  why,  hung  chains  of  lead. 

Pursued  me,  as  I  trembling  fled  • 

And,  strange  to  say,  as  swift  as  thought, 

Spite  of  my  pinions,  I  was  caught ! 

What  does  the  wanton  Fancy  mean 

By  such  a  strange,  illusive  sceiie  ? 

I  fear  she  whispers  to  my  breast, 

That  you,  sweet  maid,  have  stern  its  rest 


962  ODES    OP   AITACREOK. 

That  though  my  fancy,  for  a  while, 
Hath  hung  on  many  a  woman's  smile, 
^  I  soon  dissolved  each  passing  vow, 

And  ne'er  was  caught  by  love  till  oov 


ODE  XXXL 


Arm'd  with  hyacinthine  rod, 
(Arms  enough  for  such  a  god,) 
Cupid  bade  me  wing  my  pace. 
And  try  with  him  the  rapid  race. 
O'er  many  a  torrent,  wild  and  deep, 
By  tangled  brake  and  pendent  steep, 
With  weary  foot  I  panting  flew, 
Till  my  brow  dropp'd  with  chilly  dew. 
And  n3w  my  soul,  exhausted,  dying, 
To  my  lip  was  faintly  flying ; 
And  now  I  thought  the  spark  had  fled. 
When  Cupid  hover'd  o'er  my  head, 
And  fanning  light  his  breezy  pinion. 
Rescued  my  soul  from  death's  dominion 
Then  said,  in  accents  half-reproving, 
"  Why  hast  thou  been  a  foe  to  loving .'  " 


'iVi 


ODE  XXXII. 

STRE>y  me  a  fragrant  bed  of  leaves, 
Where  lotus  with  the  myrtle  weavea 
And  while  in  luxury's  dream  I  sink, 
Let  me  the  balm  of  Bacchus  drink  ! 
In  this  sweRt  hour  of  revelry 
Voung  Love  shall  my  attendant  be  — 
Dress'd  for  the  task,  with  tunic  rouno 
His  snowy  neck  and  shoulders  bound, 
Himself  shall  hover  by  my  side, 
And  minister  the  racy  tide  ! 


Oh,  swift  as  wheels  that  kindling  roll, 
Our  life  is  hurrying  to  the  goal . 
A  scanty  dust,  to  feed  the  wind, 
Is  all  the  trace  't  will  leave  behind. 
Then  wherefore  waste  tlie  rose's  bloom 
Upon  the  cold,  insensate  tomb  ? 
Can  flowery  breeze,  or  odor's  breath. 
Affect  the  still,  cold  sense  of  death  ? 
Oh  no  ;  I  ask  no  balm  to  steep 
With  fragrant  tears  my  bed  of  sleep : 
But  now,  while  every  pulse  is  glowing. 
Now  let  me  breathe  the  balsam  flowing 
Now  let  the  rose,  with  blush  of  fire. 
Upon  my  brow  in  sweets  expire ; 
And  bring  the  nymph  whose  eye  hath  power, 
To  brighten  even  death's  cold  hour. 


4JM  odes    of    A2tACIlE09. 

Yes,  Cupid  !  ere  my  shade  retire, 
To  join  the  blest  elysian  choir, 
With  wine,  and  love,  and  social  cheer  ; 
I  '11  make  my  own  elysiura  here  ! 


ODE  XXXIII. 


T  WAS  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  poh 
The  sullen  Bear  is  seen  to  roll ; 
And  mortals,  wearied  with  the  day, 
Are  slumbering  all  their  cares  away  : 
An  infant,  at  that  dreary  hour, 
Came  weeping  to  my  silent  bower, 
And  waked  me  with  a  piteous  prajer, 
To  shield  him  from  the  midnight  air. 
"  And  who  art  thou,"  I  waking  ciy, 
"That  bidd'st  my  blissful  visions  fly  ?* 
*'  Ah,  gentle  sire  !  "  the  infant  said, 
"  In  pity  take  me  to  tliy  shed  ; 
Nor  fear  deceit :  a  lonely  child 
I  wander  o'er  the  gloomy  wild- 
Chill  drops  the  rain,  and  not  a  ray 
Illumes  *Jie  drear  and  misty  way  I " 


I  heard  the  baby's  tale  of  woe  , 

I  heard  the  bitter  night-winds  blow ; 

And  sighing  for  his  piteous  fate, 

I  trimm'd  my  lamp  and  oped  the  gata 


ODES  OF   ^r^iCREon.  2Gi 

T  was  Love  !  the  little  wand'ring  Bprite, 
His  pinion  sparkled  through  the  night. 
I  knew  him  by  his  bow  and  dart ; 
I  knew  him  by  my  fluttering,  heart. 
Fondly  I  take  him  in,  and  raise 
The  dying  embers'  cheering  blaze ; 
Press  from  his  dank  and  clinging  half 
The  crystals  of  the  freezing  air, 
And  in  my  hand  and  bosom  hold 
His  little  fingers  thrilling  cold. 

And  now  the  embers'  genial  ray 
Had  warm'd  his  anxious  fears  away ; 
"  I  pray  thee,"  said  the  wanton  child, 
(My  bosom  trembled  as  he  smiled,) 
'  I  pray  thee  let  me  try  my  bow. 
For  through  the  rain  I  've  wander'd  so, 
That  much  I  fear  the  midnight  shower 
Has  injured  its  elastic  power." 
The  fatal  bow  the  urchin  drew  ; 
Swift  from  the  string  the  arrow  flew 
As  swiftly  flew  as  glancing  flame, 
And  to  my  inmost  spirit  came ! 
"  Fare  thee  well !  "  I  heard  him  say 
As  laughing  wild  he  wing'd  away ; 
"  Fare  thee  well,  for  now  I  know 
The  rain  has  not  relax'd  my  bow ; 
It  stni  C3n  send  a  thrilling  dart, 
As  thou  shalt  own  with  all  thy  heart 

33 


266 


ODE  XXXI V. 

Oh  thou,  of  all  creation  blest, 
Sweet  insect,  that  delight'st  to  rest 
Upon  the  wUd  wood's  leafy  tops, 
To  drink  th3  dew  that  morning  drops, 
And  chirp  thy  song  with  such  a  glee. 
That  happiest  kings  may  envy  thee. 
Whatever  decks  the  velvet  field, 
Whate'er  the  circling  seasons  yield, 
Whatever  buds,  whatever  blows. 
For  thee  it  buds,  for  thee  it  grows. 
Nor  yet  art  thou  tlie  peasant's  fear, 
To  him  tliy  friendly  notes  are  dear ; 
For  thou  art  mild  as  matin  dew  ; 
And  still,  when  summer's  flowery  hue 
Begins  to  paint  the  bloomy  plain. 
We  hear  thy  sweet  prophetic  strain ; 
Thy  sweet  prophetic  strain  we  hear. 
And  bless  the  notes  and  thee  revere ! 
The  Muses  love  thy  shrilly  tone  ; 
Apollo  calls  thee  all  his  own  ; 
T  was  he  who  gave  that  voice  to  tliee, 
"T  is  he  who  tunes  thy  minstrelsy 


Unworn  by  age's  dim  decline. 

The  fadeless  blooms  of  youth  are  thine. 

Melodious  insect,  child  of  earth. 

In  wisdom  mirthful,  wise  in  mirth ; 


ODES    OF    ANACREON.  289 

Exempt  from  every  weak  decay, 
That  withers  vulgar  frames  aw?y ; 
With  not  a  drop  of  blood  to  stain 
The  current  of  thy  purer  vein ; 
So  blest  an  age  is  pass'd  by  thee, 
Thou  seem'st  —  a  little  deity ! 


ODE  XXXV. 


Cupid  once  upon  a  bed 
Of  roses  laid  his  weary  head ; 
Luckless  urchin,  not  to  see 
Within  the  leaves  a  slumbering  bee , 
The  bee  awaked  —  with  anger  wild 
The  bee  awaked,  and  stung  the  child. 
Loud  and  piteous  are  his  cries ; 
To  Venus  quick  he  runs,  he  flies ; 
Oh, mother!  —  I  am  wounded  through -- 
die  with  pain  —  in  sooth  I  do ! 
Stung  by  some  little  angry  tiling. 
Some  serpent  on  a  tiny  wing  — 
A  bee  it  was  —  for  once,  I  know 
I  heard  a  rustic  call  it  ac." 
Thus  he  spoks.  and  she  the  while 
Heard  him  with  a  sootliing  smile ; 
Then  said,  "  My  infant,  if  so  much 
Thou  feel  the  little  wild-bees  touch, 
How  must  the  heart,  ah,  Cupid !  be, 
The  hapless  heart  that 's  stung  by  thee !  * 


268 


ODE  XXXVI 

If  hoarded  gold  possess'd  the  power  • 

To  lengthen  life's  too  fleeting  hour, 

And  purchase  from  the  hand  of  death 

A  little  span,  a  moment's  breath, 

How  I  would  love  the  precious  ore  ! 

And  every  hour  should  swell  my  store , 

That  when  Death  came,  with  shadowy  pinioi^ 

To  waft  me  to  his  black  dominion, 

I  might,  by  bribes,  my  doom  delay, 

And  bid  him  call  some  distant  day. 

But,  since  not  all  earth's  golden  store 

Can  buy  for  us  one  bright  hour  more, 

Why  should  we  vainly  mourn  our  fate. 

Or  sigh  at  life's  uncertain  date  ? 

Nor  wealth  nor  grandeur  can  illume 

The  silent  midnight  of  the  tomb. 

No  —  give  to  others  hoarded  treasures  - 

Mine  be  tlie  brilliant  round  of  pleasures 

The  goblet  rich,  the  board  of  friends. 

Whose  social  oouls  the  goblet  blends 

And  mine,  while  yet  I  've  life  to  live. 

Those  joys  that  love  alone  caxi  give 


269 


ODE  XXXVII. 

T  WAS  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl 
Had  deeply  warm'd  my  thirsty  soul ; 
As  luU'd  in  slumber  I  was  laid, 
Bright  visions  o'er  ray  fancy  play'd. 
With  maidens,  blooming  as  the  dawn, 
i  seem'd  to  skim  the  opening  lawn ; 
Light,  on  tiptoe  bathed  in  dew, 
We  flew,  and  sported  as  we  flew ! 

Some  ruddy  striplings  who  look'd  on  — 
With  cheeks,  that  like  the  wine-god's  shons 
Saw  me  chasing,  free  and  wild. 
These  blooming  maids,  and  slyly  smiled ; 
Smiled  indeed  with  wanton  glee. 
Though  none  could  doubt  they  envied  me. 
And  still  I  flew  —  and  now  had  caught 
Z'he  panting  nymphs,  and  fondly  thought 
To  gather  from  each  rosy  lip 
A  kiss  that  Jove  himself  might  sip  — 
When  sudden  all  iny  dreams  of  joys, 
Blushing  nymphs  and  laughing  boys, 
All  were  gone !  —  "  Alas  !  "  I  said, 
Sighing  for  th'  illusion  fled, 
"Again,  sweet  sleep,  that  scene  restore, 
Oh  !  let  me  dream  it  o'er  and  o'er  ! " 

33* 


'^0 


ODE  XXXVIIL 

LiKr  us  drain  the  nectar*d  bowl. 
Let  us  raise  the  song  of  soul 
To  him,  the  god  who  loves  so  weJ 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell , 
The  god  who  taught  the  sons  of  earth 
To  thrid  the  tangled  dance  of  mirth ; 
Him,  who  was  nursed  with  infant  Love, 
And  cradled  in  the  Paphian  grove  ; 
Him,  that  the  snowy  Queen  of  Charms 
So  oft  has  fondled  in  her  arms. 
Oh  't  is  from  him  the  transport  flows. 
Which  sweet  intoxication  knows  ; 
With  him,  the  brow  forgets  its  gloom, 
And  brilliant  graces  learn  to  bloom. 


Benuld !  —  my  boys  a  gobiet  bear. 
Whose  sparkling  foam  lights  up  the  au 
Where  are  now  the  tear,  the  sigh  ? 
To  the  winds  they  fly,  they  f?y ! 
Grasp  the  bowl ;  in  nectar  sinking  .' 
Man  of  sorrow,  drown  thy  thinking ! 
Say,  can  the  tears  we  lend  to  thought 
In  life's  account  avail  us  aught  ? 
Can  we  discern  with  all  our  lore, 
The  path  we  've  yet  to  journey  o'er  ? 
Alas,  alas,  in  ways  so  dark, 
T  is  only  wine  can  strike  a  spark ! 


ODES    OF    ANACREO-V.  971 

Then  let  2ie  quaif  the  foamy  tide, 

And  through  the  dance  meandering  glide ; 

Let  me  imbibe  the  spicy  breath 

Of  odors  chafed  to  fragrant  death ; 

Or  from  the  lips  of  love  inhale 

A  more  ambrosial,  richer  gale  ! 

To  hearts  that  court  the  phantom  Care, 

Let  him  retire  and  shroud  him  there  • 

While  we  exhaust  the  nectar'd  bowl. 

And  swell  the  choral  song  of  soul 

To  him,  the  god  who  loves  so  well 

The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell 


ODE  XXXIX. 


How  I  love  the  festive  boy, 
Tripping  through  the  dance  of  jo/ 
How  I  love  the  menow  sage, 
Smiling  through  the  veil  of  age ! 
And  whene'er  this  man  of  years 
In  the  dance  of  joy  appears, 
Snowa  may  o'er  his  head  be  tinng, 
Btit  his  heart  —  his  heart  is  you&g. 


^Tvi 


ODE  XL. 

J  KHOw  that  Heaven  hath  sent  me  here 
To  run  this  mortal  life's  career ; 
The  scenes  which  I  have  joumey'd  o'sSj 
Return  no  more  —  alas  !  no  more  ; 
And  all  the  path  I  've  yet  to  go, 
I  neither  know  nor  ask  to  know. 
Away,  then,  wizard  Care,  nor  think 
Thy  fetters  round  this  soul  to  link  ; 
Never  can  heart  that  feels  with  me 
Descend  to  be  a  slave  to  thee  ! 
And  oh !  before  the  vital  thrill 
Which  trembles  at  my  heart,  is  still, 
I  '11  gather  Joy's  luxuriant  flowers. 
And  gild  with  bliss  my  fading  hours  , 
Bacchus  shall  b'd  my  winter  bloora 
And  Vfinua  dance  me  to  the  tomb. 


ODE  XIJ. 


Whew  Spring  adorns  the  dewy  scene. 
How  sweet  to  walk  the  velvet  green, 
And  hear  the  west  wind's  gentle  sighs^ 
As  o'er  the  scented  mead  it  flies ! 


OIJE9    or    ANAf'REON.  278 

How  sweet  to  mark  the  pouting  vine, 

Read/  to  buist  in  tears  of  wine  -: 

And  with  some  maid,  who  breathes  but  lovo, 

To  walk  at  noontide,  through  the  grove. 

Or  sit  in  some  cool,  green  recess  — 

Oh,  is  not  tlus  true  happiness  ? 


ODE   XLIL 


Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine. 
Where  humor  sparkles  from  the  wioc). 
Around  me,  let  the  youthful  choir 
Respond  to  my  enlivening  lyre ; 
And  while  the  red  cup  foams  along, 
Mingrle  in  soul  as  well  as  song. 
Th»;n,  while  I  sit,  with  flow'rets  crown'd. 
To  regulate  the  goblet's  round. 
Let  but  the  nymph,  our  banquet's  pndo. 
Be  seated  smiling  by  my  side, 
And  earth  has  not  a  gift  or  power 
That  I  would  envv  in  that  hour.  . 
Envy  !  —  oh  never  let  its  blight 
Touch  the  gay  hearts  met  here  to  night. 
Far  hence  be  slander's  sidelong  wounds. 
Nor  harsh  disputes,  nor  discord's  sounds} 
Disturb  a  scene,  where  all  should  be 
Attuned  to  peace  and  harmony 


2^4  ODES    OF    ANACREON. 

Come,  let  us  hear  the  harp's  gay  note 
Upon  the  breeze  inspiring  float, 
While  round  us,  kindling  into  love, 
Young  maidens  through  the  light  dance  move 
Thus  blest  with  mirth,  and  love,  and  peace, 
Sure  such  a  life  should  never  cease . 


ODE  XLni. 

While  our  rosy  fillets  shed 
Freshness  o'er  each  fervid  head, 
With  many  a  cup  and  many  a  smile 
The  festal  moments  we  beguile. 
And  while  the  harp,  impassion'd,  flings 
Tuneful  raptures  from  its  strings. 
Some  airy  nymph,  with  graceful  bound, 
Keeps  measure  to  the  music's  sound  ; 
Waving,  in  her  snowy  hand, 
The  leafy  Bacchanalian  wand. 
Which,  as  the  tripping  wanton  flies. 
Trembles  all  over  to  her  sighs. 
A  youth  the  while,  with  loosen'd  hair 
Floating  on  the  listless  air. 
Sings,  to  the  wild  harp's  tender  tone, 
A  tale  of  woes,  alas  !  his  own ; 
And  oh,  the  sadness  in  his  sigh, 
As  o'er  his  lip  the- accents  die ! 
Never  sure  on  earth  has  been 
Half  so  bright,  so  blest  a  sceno. 


ODES    OF   ANACREON.  274 

It  seems  as  Love  Irimself  had  come 
To  make  this  spot  his  chosen  home; 
And  Venus,  too,  Avith  all  lier  wiles, 
And  Bacchus,  sliedding  rosy  smilea 
All.  all  are  here,  to  hail  with  me 
The  Genius  of  festivity . 


ODE  XLIV. 


Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers, 
Cull'd  from  Cupid's  balmy  bowen, 
In  the  bowl  of  Bacchus  steep, 
Till  with  crimson  drops  they  weep. 
Twine  the  rose,  the  garland  twine. 
Every  leaf  distilling  wine  ; 
Drink  and  smile,  and  learn  to  think 
That  we  were  born  to  smile  and  drink. 
Rose,  thou  art  the  sweetest  flower 
That  ever  drank  the  amber  shower  ; 
Rose,  thou  art  the  fondest  child 
Of  dimpled  Spring,  the  wood-nymph  wild 
Even  the  Gods,  who  walk  the  sky, 
Are  amorous  of  thy  scented  sigh. 
Cupid,  too,  in  Paphian  shades, 
His  hair  with  rosy  fillet  braids, 
When,  with  the  blushing,  sister  Graces, 
The  wanton  winding  dance  he  traces. 
Then  bring  me,  showers  of  roses  bring, 
And  shed  them  o'er  me  while  I  sing, 


Or  while,  great  Bacchus,- lound  thy  shrine 
Wreathing  my  brow  with  rose  and  vine. 
I  lead  some  brigiit  nymph  tlirough  the  dai«© 
0>mmingling  soul  with  every  glance. 


ODE   XLV. 


Within  this  gobiet,  rich  and  deep, 

I  cradle  all  my  woes  to  sleep. 

Why  should  we  breathe  the  sigh  of  ref «" 

Or  pour  the  unavailing  tear  ? 

For  death  will  never  heed  the  sigh, 

Nor  soften  at  the  tearful  eye ; 

And  eyes  that  sparkle,  eyes  that  weep, 

Must  all  alike  be  seal'd  in  sleep. 

Then  let  us  never  vainly  stray. 

In  search  of  thorns,  from  rvio^flure's  W3w  • 

But  wisely  quaff  the  rosy  wave. 

Which  Bacchus  loves,  which  Bacchus  gs" 

And  in  the  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 

Cradle  our  crying  woes  to  sleeo. 


277 


ODE  XI.TI. 

Behold,  the  young,  the  rosy  Spring, 
Gives  to  the  breeze  her  scented  wing , 
While  virgin  Graces,  warm  with  May, 
Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way. 
The  murmurihg  billows  of  the  deep 
Have  languish'd  into  silent  sleep ; 
And  mark !  the  flitting  sea-birds  lave 
Their  plumes  in  the  reflecting  wave ; 
While  cranes  from  hoary  winter  fly 
To  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 
Now  the  genial  star  of  day 
Dissolves  the  murky  clouds  away  ; 
And  cultured  field,  and  winding  stream, 
Are  freshly  glittering  in  his  beam. 

Now  the  earth  prolific  swells 
With  leafy  buds  and  flowery  bella ; 
Gemming  shoots  the  olive  twine. 
Clusters  ripe  festoon  tlie  vine  ; 
All  along  the  branches  creepmg, 
Through  the  velvet  foliage  peeping 
Little  infant  fruits  we  see, 
Nursing  into  luxwrj, . 

94 


278 


ODE  XLVIL 

T 13  true,  my  fading  years  decline, 
Yet  can  I  quaff  the  brimming  wine, 
As  deep  as  any  stripling  fair, 
Whose  cheeks  the  flush  of  morning  weai , 
And  if,  amidst  the  wanton  crew, 
I  'm  call'd  to  wind  the  dance's  clew, 
Then  shalt  thou  see  this  vigorous  hand. 
Not  faltering  on  the  Bacchant's  wand. 
But  brandishing  a  rosy  flask, 
The  only  thyrsus  e'er  I  '11  ask ! 

Let  those,  who  pant  for  Glory's  charms, 
Embrace  her  in  the  field  of  arms : 
While  my  inglorious,  placid  soul 
Breathes  not  a  wish  beyond  this  bowl. 
Then  fill  it  high,  my  ruddy  slave, 
And  bathe  me  in  its  brimming  wave. 
For  though  my  fading  years  decay, 
Though  manhood's  prime  hath  pass'd  away 
Like  old  Silenus,  sire  divine, 
Witli  blushes  borrow'd  from  my  wine 
I  '11  wanton  'mid  the  dancing  train. 
And  live  my  follies  o'er  again ! 


279 


ODE  XLVIIL 

Whew  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep, 
Every  sorrow 's  luU'd  to  sleep. 
Talk  of  monarchs !  I  am  then 
Richest,  happiest,  first  of  men ; 
Careless  o'er  my  cup  I  sing, 
Fancy  makes  me  more  than  king 
Gives  me  wealthy  Croesus'  store, 
Can  I,  can  I  wish  for  more  ? 
On  my  velvet  t;ouch  reclining, 
Ivy  leaves  my  brow  entwining, 
■  While  my  soul  expands  with  glee. 
What  are  kings  and  crowns  to  me  ' 
If  before  my  feet  they  lay, 
I  would  spurn  them  all  away ' 
Arm  ye,  arm  ye,  men  of  might, 
Hasten  to  the  sanguine  fight ; 
But  let  me,  my  budding  vine ! 
SpUl  no  other  blood  than  thina 
Yonder  brimming  goblet  see, 
That  alone  shall  vanquish  me  — 
Who  think  it  better,  wiser  far 
To  fall  in  banquet  than  in  war 


ODE  XLIX. 

When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy 
The  rosy  harbinger  of  joy, 
Who,  with  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl, 
Thaws  the  winter  of  our  soul  — 
When  to  my  inmost  core  he  glides. 
And  bathes  it  with  his  ruby  tides, 
A  flow  of  joy,  a  lively  heat, 
Fires  my  brain,  and  wings  my  feet, 
Calling  up  round  me  visions  known 
To  lovers  of  the  bowl  alone. 
Sing,  sing  of  love,  let  music's  sound 
In  melting  cadence  float  around, 
While,  my  young  Venus,  thou  and  I 
Responsive  to  its  murmurs  sigh. 
Then  waking  from  our  blissful  trance 
Again  we  '11  sport,  again  we  '11  dance. 


ODE  L 


Whkn  wine  I  quaff,  before  my  eyes 
Dreams  of  poetic  glory  rise ; 
And  freshen'd  by  the  goblet's  dews, 
My  soul  invokes  the  heavenly  Muaa 


ODES    OP    ANACREOW.  *28l 

When  wine  I  drink,  all  sorrow 's  o'er  5 

I  think  of  doubts  and  fears  no  more ; 

But  scatter  to  the  railing  wind 

Each  gloomy  phantom  of  the  mind. 

When  I  drink  wine,  th'  ethereal  hoj 

Bacchus  himself,  partakes  my  joy  ; 

And  while  we  dance  tlirough  vernal  bowers. 

Whose  ev'ry  breatli  comes  fresh  from  flowers, 

In  wine  he  makes  my  senses  swim, 

Till  the  gale  breathes  of  naught  but  him ' 


Again  I  drink,  —  and,  lo,  there  seema 
A  calmer  light  to  fill  my  dreams  ; 
The  lately  ruffled  wreath  I  spread 
Wit<i  steadier  hand  around  my  head  ; 
Then  take  the  lyre,  and  sing  "  how  blest 
The  life  of  him  who  lives  at  rest ! " 
But  then  comes  witching  wine  again. 
With  glorious  woman  in  its  train ; 
And,  while  rich  perfumes  round  me  rise. 
That  seem  the  breath  of  woman's  sighs, 
Bright  shapes,  of  every  hue  and  form. 
Upon  my  kindling  fancy  swarm, 
Till  the  whole  world  of  beauty  seems 
To  crowd  into  my  dazzled  dreams ! 


When  thus  I  drink,  my  heart  refines, 

And  rises  as  the  cup  decimes ; 

Rises  in  the  genial  flow. 

That  none  but  social  spirits  know, 

When,  with  young  revellers,  round  the  bowl, 

The  old  themselves  grew  young  in  soul ! 


282  ODES   OF   ANACREON. 

Oh,  when  I  drink,  true  joy  is  mine, 
There  's  bliss  in  every  drop  of  wine. 
All  other  blessings  I  have  known, 
I  scarcely  dared  to  call  my  own ; 
But  this  the  Fates  can  na'er  destroy, 
Till  death  o'ershadows  all  my  joy. 


IRISH    MELODIES 


GO  WHERE  GLORY  WAITS  THER 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee, 
But,  while  fame  elates  thee, 

Oh !  still  remember  me. 
When  the  praise  thou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  is  sweetest, 

Oh !  then  remember  me. 
Other  arms  may  press  thee. 
Dearer  friends  caress  thee, 
All  tlie  joys  that  bless  thee, 

Sweeter  far  may  be  ; 
But  when  friends  are  nearest. 
And  when  joys  are  dearest, 

Oh !  then  remember  me ! 

When,  at  eve,  thou  revest 
By  the  star  thou  lovest. 

Oh  !  then  remember  rap. 
Think,  when  home  returning, 
Bright  we  've  seen  it  burning. 

Oh !  thus  remember  me. 
Oft  as  summer  closes. 
When  thine  eye  reposes 
On  its  ling'ring  roses, 


286  IRISH   MELODIES 

Once  so  loved  by  thee, 
Think  of  her  who  wove  them, 
Her  who  made  thee  love  them, 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 

When,  around  thee  dying, 
Autumn  leaves  are  lying, 

Oh !  then  remember  me. 
And,  at  night,  when  gazing 
On  the  gay  hearth  blazing, 

Oh  !  still  remember  me. 
Then  should  music,  stealing 
All  the  soul  of  feeling. 
To  thy  heart  appealing. 

Draw  one  tear  from  thee ; 
Then  let  memory  bring  thee 
Strains  I  used  to  sing  thee,  — 

Oh !  then  remember  mc. 


ERIN      THE   TEAR    AND    THE    SMII^    I» 
THINE    EYES. 

Erir,  the  tear  and  tJie  smile  in  thine  eyes, 
Blend  like  the  rainbow  that  hangs  in  thy  skiefl  . 
Shining  through  sorrow's  stream, 
Saddening  through  pleasure's  beam. 
Thy  suns  with  doubtful  gleam. 
Weep  while  they  rise. 


IRISB    MELODIES.  287 

Erin,  thy  silent  tear  never  shall  cease, 
Erin,  thy  languid  smile  ne'er  shall  increase, 

Till,  like  the  rainbow's  light, 

Thy  various  tints  unite. 

And  form  in  heaven's  sight 
One  arch  of  peace ! 


THE  HARP  THAT  ONCE  THROUGH 
TARA'S  HALLS. 

The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls 

The  soul  of  music  shed, 
Now  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara's  walls. 

As  if  that  soul  were  fled.  — 
So  sleeps  the  pride  of  former  days. 

So  glory's  thrill  is  o'er. 
And  hearts,  that  once  beat  high  for  pnutw 

Now  feel  that  pulse  no  more. 

No  more  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright 

The  harp  of  Tara  swells ; 
The  chord  alone,  that  breaks  at  night. 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  Freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes, 

The  only  throb  she  gives. 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks. 

To  show  that  still  she  lives. 


388 


WAR   SONG 

BEMEMSSR  THE   GLORIES   OF  BBIEN  THB  B&i.Tm 

Remember  the  glories  of  Brian  the  brave, 

Tho'  the  days  of  the  hero  are  o'er? 
Tho'  lost  to  Mononia,  and  cold  in  the  ffrave, 

He  returns  to  Kinkora  no  more. 
That  star  of  the  field,  which  so  often  hath  pourd 

Its  beam  on  the  battle,  is  set ; 
But  enough  of  its  glory  remains  on  each  sword, 

To  light  us  to  victory  yet- 

Mononia !  when  Nature  embellish'd  the  tint 

Of  tliy  fields,  and  thy  mountains  so  fair 
Did  she  ever  intend  that  a  tyrant  should  print 

The  footstep  of  slavery  there  ? 
No !  Freedom,  whose  smile  we  shall  never  resign, 

Go,  tell  our  invaders,  the  Danes, 
That 't  is  sweeter  to  bleed  for  an  age  at  thy  shrme, 

Than  to  sleep  but  a  moment  in  chains. 

Forget  not  our  wounded  companions,  who  stood 

In  the  day  of  distress  by  our  side  ; 
While  the  moss  of  the  valley  grew  red  with  their  blood 

They  stirr'd  not,  but  conquer'd  and  died. 
That  sun  which  now  blesses  our  arms  with  his  light, 

Saw  them  fall  upon  Ossory's  plain ;  — 
Oh!  let  him  not  blush,  when  he  leaves  us  to-night, 

To  find  that  they  fell  there  in  vain. 


a89 


OH!  BREATHE  NOT  HIS  NAME. 

Oh    breathe  not  his  name,  let  it  sleep  in  the  shado, 
Where  cold  and  unhonored  his  relics  are  laid : 
Sad,  silent,  and  dark,  be  the  tears  that  we  shed, 
As  the  night-dew  that  falls  on  the  grass  o'er  his  head. 

But  the  night-dew  that  falls  though  in  silence  it  weeps 
Shall  brighten  with  verdure  the  grave  where  he  sleeps 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  souls. 


RICH   AND  RARE  WERE  THE  GEMS  SHE 
WORE. 

Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore, 
And  a  bright  gold  ring  on  her  wand  she  bore ; 
But  oh !  her  beauty  was  far  beyona 
Her  sparklinfr  eems,  or  snow-white  wand. 

"  Lady !  dost  thou  not  fear  to  stray. 

So  lone  and  lovely  through  this  bleak  way  ? 

Are  Erin's  sons  so  good  or  so  cold, 

Aa  not  to  be  tempted  by  woman  or  gold  ?  * 


290  IRISH     MELODIES. 

*  Sir  Knight !  I  feel  not  the  least  alami, 

No  son  of  Erin  will  offer  me  harm :  — 

For  though  they  love  woman  and  golden  stare, 

Sir  Knight !  they  love  honor  and  virtue  more ! " 

On  she  went,  and  her  maiden  smile 
In  safety  lighted  her  round  the  Green  Isle , 
And  blest  for  ever  is  she  who  relied 
Upon  Erin's  honor  and  Erin's  pride. 


AS  A  BEAM  O'ER  THE  FACE  OF  THE 
WATERS  MAY  GLOW. 

As  a  beam  o'er  the  face  of  the  waters  may  glow, 
While  the  tide  runs  in  darkness  and  co.dness  below, 
So  the  cheek  may  be  tinged  with  a  warm  sunny  smilo, 
Though  the  cold  heart  to  ruin  runs  daikly  the  while 

One  fatal  remembrance,  one  sorrow  that  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  our  joys  and  our  woes. 
To  whicn  iii'e  nothmg  darker  or  brighter  can  bring 
For  which  joy  has  no  balm  and  affliction  no  sting  — 

Oi!  this  thought  in  the  midst  of  enjoyment  will  stay, 
Like  a  dead,  leafless  branch  in  the  summer's  bright  ray 
The  beams  of  the  warm  sun  play  round  it  in  vain, 
It  may  smile  in  its  light,  but  it  blooiri^  not  again. 


29] 


"AKE    BACK    THE    VIRGIN    PAGE, 

WKITTEN   ON  RETXTBNINO  A  BLA.NK  BOOK. 

Take  back  the  virgin  page, 

White  and  unwritten  still ; 
Some  hand,  more  calm  and  sage 

The  leaf  must  fill 
Thoughts  come,  as  pure  as  light, 

Pure  as  even  you  require : 
But,  oh !  each  word  I  write 

Love  turns  to  iire. 

Yet  let  me  keep  the  book . 

Otl  shall  my  heart  renew, 
When  on  its  leaves  I  look. 

Dear  thoughts  ot  you. 
Like  you,  't  is  fair  and  bright , 

Like  you  too  bright  and  fair 
To  let  wild  passion  write 

One  wrong  wish  tiiere. 

Haply,  when  from  those  eyes 

Far,  far  away  I  roam. 
Should  calmer  thoughts  arise 

Tow'rds  you  and  home ; 
Fancy  may  trace  some  line, 

Worthy  tliose  eyes  to  meet. 
Thoughts  that  not  burn,  but  shintt, 

Pure,  calm,  and  sweet 


QSQ  IRISH    UEI.ODIEB. 

And  as,  o'er  ocean  far, 

Seamen  their  records  keep^ 
Led  by  some  hidden  star 

Through  the  cold  deep ; 
So  may  the  words  I  write 

Tell  thro'  what  storms  I  stray  ■ 
You  still  the  unseen  light 

Guiding  my  way. 


LET  ERIN  REMEMBER  THE  DAYS  OP  OLD 

Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old, 

Ere  her  faithless  sons  betray'd  her ; 
When  Malachi  wore  the  collar  of  gold, 

Which  he  won  from  her  proud  invader, 
When  her  kings,  with  standard  of  green  unfurl'd* 

Led  the  Red-Branch  Knights  to  danger;-— 
Ere  the  emerald  gem  of  the  western  world 

Was  set  in  the  crown  of  a  stranger. 

On  Lough  Neagh's  bank,  as  the  fisherman  BtrayH| 

When  the  clear  cold  eve 's  declining, 
He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days 

In  the  wave  beneath  him  shining ; 
Thus  shall  memory  often,  in  dreams  sublime, 

Catch  a  glimpse  of  the  days  that  are  over ; 
Thus,  sighing,  look  through  the  waves  of  t/me 

For  the  long  faded  glories  they  cf»yer 


293 


EVELEEN'S  BOWER. 

Oh  !  weep  for  the  hour, 

When  to  Eveleen's  bower 
The  Lord  of  the  Valley  with  false  vows  carae ; 

The  moon  hid  her  light 

From  the  heavens  that  night, 
And  wept  behind  her  clouds  o'er  the  maiden's  shame. 

The  clouds  pass'd  soon 

From  the  chaste  cold  moon, 
And  heaven  smiled  again  with  her  vestal  flame 

But  none  will  see  the  day, 

When  the  clouds  shall  pass  away, 
Which  triat  dark  hour  left  upon  Eveleen's  fame. 

The  white  snow  lay 

On  the  narrow  path-way. 
When  the  Lord  of  the  Valley  cross'd  over  the  moor 

And  many  a  deep  print 

On  the  white  snow's  tint 
Show'd  the  track  of  his  footstep  to  Eveleen's  door. 

The  next  sun's  ray 

Soon  melted  away 
Every  trace  on  the  path  where  the  false  Lord  came . 

But  there 's  a  light  above 

Which  alone  can  remove 
That  stain  upon  the  snow  of  fair  Eveleen's  fame. 

25» 


294 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 

Oh  .  the  days  are  gone,  when  Beauty  bright 

My  heart's  chain  wove  ; 
When  my  dream  of  life,  from  morn  till  night, 
Was  love,  still  love. 
New  hope  may  bloom, 
And  days  may  come, 
Of  milder,  calmer  beam. 
But  there 's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life, 

As  love's  young  dream : 
No,  there 's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life, 
As  love's  young  dream. 

Though  the  bard  to  purer  fame  may  soar, 

When  wild  youUi  's  past ; 
Though  he  win  the  wise,  who  frown'd  btfore^ 
To  smile  at  last ; 
He  '11  never  meet 
A  joy  so  sweet. 
In  all  his  noon  of  fame, 
As  when  first  he  sung  to  woman's  ear 

His  soul-felt  flame, 
And  at  every  close,  she  blush'd  to  hear 
The  one  loved  name. 

No,  —  that  hallow'd  form  is  ne'er  forgot 

Which  first  love  traced  ; 
Still  it  lingering  haunts  the  greenest  spot 

On  memory's  waste. 


IRISH     HELODIEa  295 

T  was  odor  fled 
As  soon  as  shed  ; 
T  was  morning's  winged  dream ; 
T  was  a  light  that  ne'er  can  sliine  again 

On  life's  dull  streain ; 
Oh!  't  was  light  that  ne'er  can  shrine  again 
On  life's  dull  streauL 


ERIN,  OH  ERIN. 

Like  the  bright  lamp,  that  shone  in  KOdar's  holy  fane 
And  burn'd  thro'  long  ages  of  darkness  and  storm. 

Is  the  heart  that  sorrows  have  frown'd  on  in  vain, 
Whose  spirit  outlives  tliem,  unfading  and  warm. 

Erin,  oh  Erin,  thus  bright  thro'  the  tears 

Of  a  long  night  of  bondage,  thy  spirit  appears. 

The  nations  have  fallen,  and  thou  still  art  young, 
Thy  sun  is  but  rising,  when  others  are  set ; 

And  tho'  slavery's  cloud  o'er  thy  morning  hath  hung 
The  full  noon  of  freedom  shall  beam  round  thee  yet 

Erin,  oh  Erin,  tho'  long  in  the  shade. 

Thy  star  shall  shine  out  when  the  proudest  shall  fade. 

Unchlll'd  by  the  rain,  and  unwaked  by  the  wind. 
The  lily  lies  sleeping  thro'  winter's  cold  hour, 

Till  Spring's  light  torch  her  fetters  unbind. 

And  daylight  and  liberty  bless  the  young  flowei. 

Thus  Erin,  oh  Erin,  thy  winter  is  past. 

And  the  hope  that  lived  thro'  it  shall  blossom  at  last 


296 


I'D  MOURN  THE  HOPES. 

I  'd  mourn  the  hopes  that  leave  me, 

If  thy  smiles  had  left  me  too, 
I  'd  weep  when  friends  deceive  me, 

If  thou  wert,  like  them,  untioie. 
But  while  I  've  thee  before  me, 

With  hearts  so  warm  and  eyes  so  brighti 
No  clouds  can  linger  o'er  me. 

That  smile  turns  them  aU  to  liffhU 


T  is  not  in  fate  to  harm  me. 

While  fate  leaves  thy  love  to  me ; 
'T  is  not  in  joy  to  charm  me, 

Unless  joy  be  shared  with  thee. 
One  minute's  dream  about  thee 

Were  worth  a  long,  an  endless  year 
Of  waking  bliss  without  thee. 

My  own  love,  my  only  dear ! 


And  though  the  hope  be  gone,  love, 

That  long  sparkled  o'er  our  way, 
Oh  !  we  shall  journey  on,  love, 

More  safely,  without  its  ray, 
Var  better  lights  shall  win  me 

Along  the  path  I've  yet  to  roam: 
T'he  mind  that  burns  within  me, 

And  pure  smiles  from  thee  at  home 


IRISH     MELODIES.  29fi 

Thus  when  the  lamp  that  lighted 

The  traveller  at  first  goes  out, 
He  feels  awhile  benighted, 

And  looks  round  in  fear  and  doubt 
But  soon,  the  prospect  clearing, 

By  cloudless  starlight  on  he  treads, 
And  thinks  no  lamp  so  cheering 

As  that  light  which  Heaven  shedf 


OH  THE  SHAMROCK. 

Through  Erin's  Isle, 

To  sport  awhile, 
As  Love  and  Valor  wander'd. 

With  Wit,  the  sprite. 

Whose  quiver  bright 
A  thousand  arrows  squander'd. 

Where'er  they  pass, 

A  triple  grass 
Shoots  up,  witli  dew-drops  streaming, 

As  softly  green 

As  emeralds  seen 
Through  purest  crystal  gleaming. 
Oh  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock 

Chosen  leaf, 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock ! 


298  IRISH    MELODIES. 

Says  Valor,  "  See 

They  spring  for  me, 
Those  leafy  gems  of  mornmg '  * 

Says  Love,  "  No,  no, 

For  me  they  grow, 
My  fragiant  path  adorning." 

But  Wit  perceives 

The  triple  leaves, 
And  cries,  "  Oh  !  do  not  sever 

A  type,  that  blends 

Three  godlike  friends. 
Love,  Valor,  Wit,  for  ever ! "  • 

Oh  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock ! 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock ! 

So  firmly  fond 

May  last  the  bond 
They  wove  that  morn  together, 

And  ne'er  may  faU 

One  drop  of  gall 
On  Wit's  celestial  feather. 

May  Love,  as  twine 

His  flowers  divine. 
Of  thorny  falsehood  weed  'em 

May  Valor  ne'er 

His  standard  rear 
Against  the  cause  of  Freedom ! 
Oh  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamjock 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock 


'499 


FAREWELL.  — BUT   WHENEVER   YOU 
WELCOME  THE  HOUR. 

Farewell  .  —  but  whenever  you  welcome  the  hour, 
That  awakens  the  night-song  of  mirth  in  your  bower 
Then  think  of  the  friend  who  once  welcomed  it  too, 
And  forgot  his  own  griefs  to  be  happy  with  you. 
His  griefs  may  return,  not  a  hope  may  remain 
Of  the  few  that  have  brighten'd  his  pathway  of  pain. 
But  he  ne'er  will  forget  the  short  vision,  that  threw 
Its  enchantment  around  him,  while  ling'ring  with  yoii 

And  still  on  that  evening,  when  pleasure  fills  up 
To  the  highest  top  sparkle  each  heart  and  each  cup, 
Where'er  my  path  lies,  be  it  gloomy  or  bright, 
My  soul,  happy  friends,  shall  be  with  you  that  night , 
Shall  join  in  your  revels,  your  sports,  and  your  wiles. 
And  return  to  me,  beaming  all  o'er  with  your  smiles 
Too  blest,  If  it  tells  me  that,  'mid  the  gay  cheer, 
Some  kind  voice  had  murmur'd,  "  I  wish  he  were  here ' 

Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy, 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy , 
Which  come  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and  care, 
And  bring  back  tlie  features  that  joy  used  to  wear. 
Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  fill'd  ! 
Like  the  vase,  in  which  roses  have  once  been  distill'd 
You  may  break,  you  may  sliatter  the  vase,  if  you  will, 
But  the  scent  ol  the  roses  will  hang  round  it  stilL 


300 


TIS  THE  LAST  ROSE  OP  SUMMER 

T  IS  the  last  rose  of  summer 

Left  blooming  alone ; 
All  her  lovely  companions 

Are  faded  and  gone  ; 
No  flower  of  her  kindred, 

No  rosebud  is  nigh, 
To  reflect  back  her  blushes, 

Or  give  sigh  for  sigh. 

1 11  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  one , 

To  pine  on  the  stem ; 
Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping. 

Go,  sleep  thou  with  them. 
Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  tlie  bed, 
Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 

Lie  scentless  and  dead. 

So  soon  may  /  follow. 

When  friendships  decay. 
And  from  Love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  drop  away. 
When  true  hearts  lie  wither'tl, 

And  fond  ones  are  flown, 
Oh !  who  would  inhabit 

This  bleak  world  alone ! 


301 


HAS  SORROW  THY  YOUNG  DAYS 
SHADED. 

Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded, 

As  clouds  o'er  the  morning  fleet  ? 
Too  fast  have  those  young  days  faded, 

That,  ev'n  in  sorrow,  were  sweet ' 
Does  Time  with  his  cold  wing  wither 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  dear?  — 
Then,  child  of  misfortune,  come  hither, 

I  '11  weep  with  thee,  tear  for  tear. 

Has  love  to  that  soul,  so  tender, 

Been  like  our  Lagenian  mine, 
Where  sparkles  of  golden  splendor 

All  over  the  surface  shine  — 
But,  if  in  pursuit  we  go  deeper, 

Allured  by  the  gleam  that  shone, 
Ah !  false  as  the  dream  of  the  sleeper 

Like  Love,  the  bright  ore  is  gone 

Has  Hope,  like  the  bird  in  the  story, 
That  flitted  from  tree  to  tree 

With  the  talisman's  glitt'ring  glory  — 
Has  Hope  been  that  bird  to  thee  ? 

On  branch  after  branch  alighting, 
The  gem  did  she  still  display. 

And,  when  nearest  and  most  inviting, 

Then  wa^  the  fair  gem  away  ? 
36 


302  IRISH     M£LODIES. 

If  thus  the  young  hours  have  fleeted, 

When  sorrow  itself  lonk'd  bright; 
If  thus  the  fair  hope  hath  cheated, 

That  led  thee  along  so  ligh* ; 
If  thus  the  cold  world  now  wither 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  dear  •    - 
Come,  child  of  misfortune,  corne  hither, 

I  '11  weep  with  thee,  tear  for  tear. 


THE  MINSTREL  BOY. 

The  Minstrel  Boy  to  the  war  ^  gone. 

In  the  ranks  of  death  yoa  'U  find  him  ; 
His  father's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 

And  his  wild  harp  swung  behind  him. — 
"  Land  of  song !  "  said  the  warrior  bard, 

"  Though  all  the  world  betrays  thee. 
One  sword,  at  least,  thy  rights  shall  guard, 

One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee ! " 

The  Minstrel  fell !  —  but  the  foeman's  chain 

Could  not  bring  his  proud  soul  under ; 
The  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  again. 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder ; 
And  said,  "  No  chains  shall  sully  thee, 

Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery ! 
Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  pure  and  free, 

They  sha'l  never  sound  in  slavery." 


303 


OH     HAD  WE  SOME  BRIGHT  LITTLE 
ISLE  OP  OUR  OWN. 

Oh  !  Lad  we  some  bright  little  isle  of  our  own, 
In  a  blue  summer  ocean,  far  off  and  alone, 
Where  a  leaf  never  dies  in  the  still  blooming  bowers, 
And  the  bee  banquets  on  through  a  whole  year  of  flowers 

Where  the  sun  loves  to  pause 
With  so  fond  a  delay. 

That  the  night  only  draws 
A  thin  veil  o'er  the  day  ; 
Where  simply  to  feel  that  we  breathe,  that  we  live, 
[s  worth  the  best  joy  that  life  elsewhere  can  give. 

There,  with  souls  ever  ardent  and  pure  as  the  clime, 
We  should  love,  as  they  loved  in  the  first  golden  time 
The  glow  of  the  sunshine,  the  balm  of  the  air, 
Would  steal  to  our  hearts,  and  make  all  summer  there 

With  affection  as  free 

From  decline  as  the  bowers. 

And,  with  hope,  like  the  bee, 
Living  always  on  flowers, 
Our  life  should  resemble  a  long  day  of  light. 
And  our  death  come  on,  holy  and  calm  as  the  night 


>U1 


FILL  THE  BUMPER   FAIR, 

Fill  the  bumper  fair ! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  Avrinkle. 
Wit's  electric  flame 

Ne'er  so  swiftly  passes, 
As  when  through  the  frame 

It  shoots  from  brimming  glaaaea 
Fill  the  bumper  fair ! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 


Sages  can,  they  say, 

Grasp  the  lightning's  pinions, 
And  bring  down  its  ray 

From  the  starr'd  dominions :  — 
So  we,  Sages,  sit, 

And  'mid  bumpers  bright'ning, 
From  the  Heaven  of  Wit 

Draw  down  all  its  lightning. 


Wouldst  thou  know  what  first 
Made  our  souls  inherit 

This  ennobling  thirst 

For  wine's  celestial  spirit  ? 


IRISH     MELODIES.  308 

It  chanced  upon  that  day, 

When,  as  bards  inform  us, 
Prometlieus  stole  away 

The  living  fires  that  warm  •« 

The  careless  Youth,  when  up 

To  Glory's  fount  aspiring. 
Took  nor  urn  nor  cup 

To  hide  the  pilfer'd  fire  in.  — 
But  oh  his  joy,  when  round 

The  halls  of  Heaven  spying, 
Among  the  stars  he  found 

A  bowl  of  Bacchus  lying ! 

Some  drops  were  in  that  bowl, 

Remains  of  last  night's  pleasure 
With  which  the  Sparks  of  Soul 

Mix'd  their  burning  treasure. 
Hence  the  goblet's  shower 

Hath  such  spells  to  win  ua  ; 
Hence  its  mighty  power 

O'er  that  flame  within  ua ; 
Fill  the  bumper  fair ! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle 
K6* 


306 


AS  SLOW  OUR  SHIP. 

As  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track 

Against  the  wind  was  cleaving, 
Her  trembling  pennant  still  looii'd  back 

To  that  dear  Isle  't  was  leaving. 
So  loath  we  part  from  all  we  love, 

From  all  the  links  that  bind  us ; 
So  turn  our  hearts  as  on  we  rove, 

To  those  we  've  left  behind  us. 


When,  round  the  bowl,  of  vanish'd  years 

We  talk,  with  joyous  seeming,  — 
With  smiles  that  might  as  well  be  tears, 

So  faint,  and  sad  their  beaming ; 
While  mem'ry  brings  us  back  again 

Each  early  tie  that  twined  us. 
Oh,  sweet 's  the  cup  that  circles  then 

To  those  we  've  left  behind  us. 


And  when,  in  other  climes,  wo  meet 

Some  isle,  or  vale  enchanting. 
Where  all  looks  flow'ry,  wild,  and  sweeti 

And  naught  but  love  is  wanting ; 
We  think  how  great  had  been  our  bliss, 

If  Heav'n  had  but  assign'd  us 
To  live  and  die  in  scenes  like  this, 

With  some  we  've  left  behind  us ' 


IRISH     MELODIES.  307 

As  trav'Iers  oft  look  back  at  eve, 

When  eastward  darkly  going, 
To  gaze  upon  that  light  they  leave 

Still  faint  behind  them  glowing,  — 
So,  when  the  close  of  pleasure's  day 

To  gloom  hath  near  consign'd  us, 
A^e  turn  to  catch  one  fading  ray 

Of  joy  that's  left  behind  us. 


I  SAW   FROM  THE  BEACH. 

I  SAW  from  the  beach,  when  the  morning  was  shuiing 
A  bark  o'er  the  waters  move  gloriously  on ; 

(  came  when  the  sun  o'er  that  beach  was  declining. 
The  barK  was  still  there,  but  tlie  waters  were  gone. 

And  such  is  the  fate  of  our  life's  early  promise. 
So  passing  the  spring-tide  of  joy  we  have  known ; 

Each  wave,  that  we  danced  on  at  morning,  ebbs  from  uSi 
And  leaves  us,  at  eve,  on  the  bleak  shore  alone. 

Ne'er  tell  me  of  glories,  serenely  adorning 

The  close  of  our  day,  the  calm  eve  of  our  night ,  — 
Give  me  back,  give  me  back  the  wild  freslmess  of 
Morning, 
Her  clouds  and  her  tears  are  worth  Evening's  best 
light 


308 


IN  THE  MORNING  OF  LIFE. 

Is  the  morning  of  life,  when  its  cares  are  unknown, 

And  its  pleasures  in  all  their  new  lustre  begin, 
When  we  live  in  a  bright-beaming  world  of  our  own, 

And  ihe  light  that  surrounds  us  is  all  from  within ; 
Oh  't  is  not,  believe  me,  in  that  happy  time 

We  can  love,  as  in  hours  of  less  transport  we  may ;  - 
Of  our  Hiniles,  of  our  hopes,  't  is  the  gay  sunny  primob 

But  aifection  is  truest  when  these  fade  away. 

When  we  see  the  first  glory  of  youth  pass  us  by. 

Like  a  leaf  on  the  stream  that  will  never  return ; 
When  our  cup,  which  had  sparkled  with  pleasure  so  higtv 

First  castes  of  the  other,  the  dark-flowing  urn ; 
Then,  tnen  is  the  time  when  affection  holds  sway 

With  a  depth  and  a  tenderness  joy  never  knew ; 
Love,  nursed  among  pleasures,  is  faithless  as  they, 

But  the  Love  born  of  Sorrow,  like  Sorrow,  is  true. 

In  climps  full  of  sunshine,  though  splendid  the  flowers 

Their  sighs  have  no  freshness,  tlieir  odor  no  worth ; 
"T  is  the  cloud  and  the  mistof  our  own  Isle  of  showers 

Tliat  call  the  ricn  spirit  of  fragrancy  forth. 
So  it  is  not  mid  splendor,  prosperity,  mirth, 

That  tlie  depth  of  Love's  generous  spirit  appears ; 
To  the  sunshine  of  smiles  it  may  first  owe  its  birth, 

But  tna  soul  of  its  sweetness  is  drawn  out.  by  teeirs 


1 

309 
WHERE  IS  THE  SLAVE. 

Oh,  where 's  the  slave  so  lowly, 

1 
j 

wondemn'd  to  chains  unholy. 

Who,  could  he  burst 

His  bonds  at  first, 

Would  pine  beneath  them  slowly  ? 

What  soul,  whose  wrongs  degrade  itg 

Would  wait  till  time  decay'd  it. 

When  thus  its  wing 

At  once  may  spring 

To  the  throne  of  Him  who  made  it  f 

Farewell,  Erin,  —  farewell,  all, 

Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 

Less  dear  the  laurel  growing. 

Alive,  untouch'd  and  blowing. 

Than  that,  whose  braid 

Is  pluck'd  to  shade 

The  brows  with  victory  glowing. 

■ 

We  tread  the  land  that  bore  us. 

Her  green  flag  glitters  o'er  us, 

:;              ' 

The  friends  we  've  tried 

Are  by  our  side, 

And  the  foe  we  hate  before  us. 

Farewell,  Erin,  —  Farewell,  all, 

Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 

WREATH  THE  BOWL. 

Wreath  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  soul, 

Th3  brightest  Wit  can  find  us : 
We '11  take  a  flight 
Tow'rds  heaven  to-night, 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 
Should  Love  amid 
The  wreaths  be  hid, 

That  Joy,  th'  enchanter,  brings  u% 
No  danger  fear. 
While  wine  is  near, 

We  '11  drown  him  if  he  stings  US' 
Then,  wreath  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  soul. 

The  brightest  Wit  can  find  us : 
We  '11  take  a  flight 
Tow'rds  heaven  to-night, 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  ua 


'T  was  nectar  fed 

Of  old,  't  is  said, 
Their  Junos,  Joves,  Apollos , 

And  man  may  brew 

His  nectar  too. 
The  rich  receipt 's  as  follows 

Take  wine  like  this. 

Let  looks  of  blisa 


IRISH     MKLODIE3. 

Around  it  well  be  blended, 
Then  bring  Wit's  beam 
To  warm  the  stream, 

And  there  's  your  nectar,  splendid 
So  wreath  tlie  howl 
With  flowers  of  soul, 

311 

The  brightest  Wit  can  find  us ; 

We  '11  take  a  flight 

Tow'rds  heaven  to-night, 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 

Say,  why  did  Time, 

His  glass  sublime. 

Fill  up  with  sands  unsightly, 

When  wine,  he  knew, 

Runs  brisker  through. 

And  sparkles  far  more  brightly  ? 

Oh,  lend  it  us, 

And,  smiling  thus, 

The  glass  in  two  we  '11  sever 

Make  pleasure  glide 

In  double  tide, 

And  fill  both  ends  forever ! 

Then  wreath  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul. 

• 

The  brightest  Wit  can  find  us 

We  '11  take  a  flight 

'■ 

Tow'rds  heaven  to-night 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  os. 

SIM 


BEFORE  THE  BATTLE. 

Bt  the  hope  within  us  springing, 

Herald  of  to-morrow's  strife ; 
By  that  sun,  whose  light  is  bringing 

Chains  or  freedom,  death  or  life  — 
Oh !  remember  life  can  be 
No  charm  for  him,  who  lives  not  free ' 

Like  the  day-star  in  the  wave, 

Sinks  a  hero  in  his  grave. 
Midst  the  dew-fall  of  a  nation's  tears. 


Happy  is  he  o'er  whose  decline 
The  smiles  of  home  may  soothing  shuie, 
And  light  him  down  the  steep  of  years :  — 
But  oh,  how  blest  they  sink  to  rest. 
Who  close  their  eyes  on  Victory's  breast 


O'er  his  watch-fire's  fading  embers 

Now  the  foeman's  cheek  turns  white, 
When  his  heart  that  field  remembers, 

Where  we  tamed  his  tyrant  might. 
Never  let  him  bind  again 
A  chain,  like  that  we  broke  from  then 

Hark!  the  horn  of  combat  calls  — 

Ere  the  golden  evening  falls, 
May  we  pledge  that  horn  in  triumph  round 


IRISH    HKLODIES.  313 

Many  a  heart  that  now  beats  high, 
In  slumber  cold  at  nijjht  shall  lie, 
Nor  waken  even  at  victory's  sound :  - 
But  oh,  how  blest  that  hero's  sleep, 
O'er  whom  a  wond'ring  world  shall  weep 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

NioHT  closed  around  the  conqueror's  way, 

And  lightnings  show'd  the  distant  hill. 
Where  those  who  lost  that  dreadful  day. 

Stood  few  and  faint,  but  fearless  still. 
The  soldier's  hope,  the  patriot's  zeal. 

For  ever  dimm'd,  for  ever  cross'd  — 
Oh  !  who  shall  say  what  heroes  feel, 

When  all  but  life  and  honor 's  lost  ? 

The  last  sad  hour  of  freedom's  dream. 

And  valor's  task,  moved  slowly  by, 
While  mute  they  watch'd,  till  morning's  beam 

Should  rise  and  give  them  light  to  die. 
There  s  yet  a  world,  where  souls  are  free. 

Where  tyrants  taint  not  nature's  bliss  ;  — 
If  death  that  world's  bright  opening  be, 

Oh !  who  would  live  a  slave  in  tliis  ? 


314 


ONE  BUMPER  AT  PARTING 

One  bumper  at  parting !  —  though  many 

Have  circled  the  board  since  we  met. 
The  fullest,  the  saddest  of  any, 

Remains  to  be  crown'd  by  us  yet 
The  sweetness  that  pleasure  hath  in  it, 

Is  always  so  slow  to  come  forth. 
That  seldom,  alas,  till  the  minute 

It  dies,  do  we  know  half  its  worth. 
But  come,  —  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up  ; 
They  're  born  on  the  bosom  of  Pleasure, 

They  die  'midst  the  tears  of  the  cup. 

As  onward  we  journey,  how  pleasant 

To  pause  and  inhabit  awhile 
Those  few  sunny  spots,  like  the  present, 

That  'mid  the  dull  wilderness  smile ' 
But  Time,  like  a  pitiless  master. 

Cries  "Onward!"  and  spurs  the  gay  hoar-» 
Ah,  never  doth  Time  travel  faster, 

Than  when  his  way  lies  among  flowers. 
But  come,  —  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up ; 
They  're  born  on  the  bosom  of  Pleasure, 

They  die  'midst  the  tears  of  the  cup. 

We  sa-v  how  the  sun  look'd  in  sinking, 
The  waters  beneath  him  how  bright ; 


IRISH   MELODIES.  31d 

And  now,  let  our  farewell  of  drinking         * 

Resemble  that  farewell  of  light. 
You  saw  how  he  finish'd,  by  darting 

His  beam  o'er  a  billow's  brim 
So,  fill  up,  let 's  shine  at  our  parting. 

In  full  liquid  glory,  like  him. 
And  oh !  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Of  moments  like  this  be  made  up, 
'T  was  born  on  the  bosom  of  Pleasure, 

It  dies  'mid  the  tears  of  the  cup 


WHILE  GAZING  ON  THE  MOON'S  LIGHT 

While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light, 

A  moment  from  her  smUe  I  tum'd, 
To  look  at  orbs,  that,  more  bright. 
In  lone  and  distant  glory  burn'd. 
But  too  far 
Each  proud  star, 
For  me  to  feel  its  warming  flame  , 
Much  more  dear 
That  mild  sphere, 
Which  near  our  planet  smiling  came ;  — 
Thus,  Mary,  be  but  thou  my  own  ; 

While  brighter  eyes  unheeded  play, 
I  '11  love  those  moonlight  looks  alone, 
That  bless  my  home  and  guide  my  way 


816  IRISH     MELODIES. 

The  day  had  sunk  in  dim  showers, 

But  midnight  now,  with  lustre  meet. 
Illumined  all  the  pale  flowers, 
Like  hope  upon  a  mourner's  cheek. 
I  said  (while 
The  moon's  smile 
Play'd  o'er  a  stream,  in  dimpling  h\\aa\ 
"  The  moon  looks 
On  many  brooks ; 
The  brook  can  see  no  moon  but  this ;  * 
And  thus,  I  thought,  our  fortunes  mn, 

For  many  a  lover  looks  to  thee, 

While  oh !  I  feel  there  is  but  one. 

One  Mary  in  the  wo-ld  for  me. 


COME  O'ER  THE  SEA. 

Come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden,  with  me, 
Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snowa , 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 
Let  fate  frown  on,  so  we  love  and  part  not ; 
T  is  life  where  thou  art,  't  is  death  where  thou  rt  not 

Then  come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden,  with  me. 


IRISH    MELODIES.  317 

Come  wherever  the  wild  wind  blows ; 

Seasons  may  roll, 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes 


Was  not  the  sea 

Made  for  the  Free, 
Land  lor  courts  and  chains  alone  ? 

Here  we  are  slaves, 

But,  on  the  waves. 
Love  and  Liberty  's  all  our  own. 
Nc  eye  to  watch,  and  no  tongue  to  wound  ua, 
All  earth  forgot,  and  all  heaven  around  us  — 

Then  come  o'er  the  sea. 

Maiden,  with  me. 
Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows 

Seasons  may  roll, 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes 


COME,  REST  IN   THIS  BOSOM. 

c'oME,  rest  in  this  bosom,  my  own  stricken  deer 
Though  the  herd  have  fled  from  thee,  thy  home  is  tAik 

here; 
Here  still  is  the  smile,  that  no  cloud  can  o'ercast, 
And  a  heart  and  a  hand  all  thv  own  to  the  last 


318  IRISH     MELODIES. 

Oh  *  what  was  ove  made  for,  if  't  is  not  the  same 
Through  joy  and  through  torment,  through  glory  and 
I  know  not,  I  ask  not,  if  guilt 's  in  that  heart,  [shame  ? 
I  but  know  that  I  love  thee,  whatever  thou  art 

Thou  hast  call'd  me  thy  Angel  in  moments  of  blias, 
Anu  thy  Angel  I  '11  be,  'mid  the  horrors  of  this,  — 
Through  the  furnace,  unshrinking,  thy  steps  to  pursue^ 
And  shield  thee,  and  save  thee,  —  or  perish  there  too ' 


WHENE'ER  I  SEE  THOSE  SMILING  EYES. 

Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes. 

So  full  of  hope,  and  joy,  and  light, 
AS  if  no  cloud  could  ever  rise. 

To  dim  a  heav'n  so  purely  bright  — 
I  sigh  to  think  how  soon  that  brow 

In  grief  may  lose  its  every  ray. 
And  that  light  heart,  so  joyous  now, 

Almost  forget  it  once  was  gay. 

For  time  will  come  with  all  its  blights. 

The  ruin'd  hope,  the  friend  unkind, 
And  love,  that  leaves,  where'er  it  lights, 

A  chill  or  burning  heart  behind :  — 
While  youth,  that  now  like  snow  appears, 

Ere  sullied  by  the  dark'ning  rain. 
When  once  't  is  touch'd  by  sorrow's  tears, 

Can  never  shine  so  briglt  again. 


319 


ON  MUSIC. 

When  thro'  life  unblest  we  rove. 

Losing  all  that  made  life  dear, 
Should  some  notes  we  used  to  love. 

Tn  days  of  boyhood,  meet  our  ear, 
Oh !  how  welcome  breathes  the  strain 

Wakening  thoughts  that  long  have  slepft 
Kindling  former  smiles  again 

In  faded  eyes  that  long  have  wept. 

Like  the  gale,  that  sighs  along 

Beds  of  oriental  flowers, 
Is  the  grateful  breath  of  song, 

That  once  was  heard  in  happier  hours  • 
Fill'd  with  balm,  the  gale  sighs  on, 

Though  the  flowers  have  sunk  in  death 
So,  when  pleasure's  dream  is  gone, 

Its  memory  lives  in  Music's  breath. 

Music,  oh  how  faint,  how  weak, 

Language  fades  before  thy  spell ! 
Why  should  Feeling  ever  speak, 

When  thou  canst  breathe  her  soul  so  well  ? 
Friendship's  balmy  words  may  feign, 

Love's  are  ev'n  more  false  than  they , 
Oh !  't  is  only  music's  strain 

Can  sweetly  sooth  and  not  betray. 


320 


SHE  SUNG  OF  L.OVE 

She  sung  of  Love,  while  o'er  her  lyre 

The  rosy  rays  of  evening'  fell, 
As  if  to  feed,  with  their  soft  fire, 

Tlic  soul  within  that  trembling  shell. 
The  same  rich  light  hung  o'er  her  cheek, 

And  play'd  around  those  lips  that  sung 
And  spoke,  as  flowers  would  sing  and  apeak 

If  Love  could  lend  their  leaves  a  tongue. 

But  soon  the  West  no  longer  bum'd. 

Each  rosy  ray  from  heav'n  withdreTr  ♦ 
And  when,  to  gaze  again  I  turn'd, 

The  minstrel's  form  seem'd  fading  too. 
As  if  her  light  and  heav'n's  were  one 

The  glory  all  had  left  that  frame ; 
And  from  her  glimmering  lips  the  tone^ 

Aa  from  a  parting  spirit,  came. 

Who  ever  loved,  but  had  the  thought 

That  he  and  all  he  loved  must  part  ? 
Fill'd  with  this  fear,  I  flew  and  cauglit 

The  fading  image  to  my  heart  — 
And  cried,  "  Oh  Love  !  is  this  tiiy  doom  J 

Oh  light  of  youth's  resplendent  day ! 
Must  ye  then  lose  your  golden  bloom, 

And  thus,  like  sunshine,  die  away  ?  " 


321 


ALONE   IN   CROWDS  TO   WANDER   ON 

Alone  in  crowds  to  wander  on, 

And  feel  ^at  all  the  charm  is  gone 

Which  voices  dear  and  eyes  beloved 

Shed  round  us  once,  where'er  we  roved  — 

This,  this  the  doom  must  be, 

Of  all  who  ve  loved,  and  lived  to  see 

The  few  bright  things  they  thought  would  stay 

Forever  near  them,  die  away. 

Tho'  fairer  forms  around  us  tlirong, 

Their  smiles  to  others  all  belong, 

And  want  that  charm  which  dwells  alone 

Round  those  the  fond  heart  calls  its  own. 

Where,  where  the  sunny  brow  ? 

The  long-knawn  voice  —  where  are  they  now  f 

Thus  ask  I  still,  nor  ask  in  vain. 

The  silence  answers  all  too  plain. 

Oh,  what  is  Fancy's  magic  worth. 
If  all  her  art  cannot  call  forth 
One  bliss  like  those  we  felt  of  old 
From  lips  now  mute,  and  eyes  now  cold  ? 
No,  no,  —  her  spell  is  vain, — 
As  soon  could  she  bring  back  again 
Those  eyes  themselves  from  out  the  grave, 
As  wake  again  one  bliss  they  gave. 


32^ 


THEY   KNOW   NOT   MY   HEART 

Thki  know  not  my  heart,  who  believe  there  can  be 
One  stain  of  this  earth  in  its  feelings  for  tliee  ; 
Who  think,  while  I  see  thee  in  beauty's  young  houi 
As  pure  as  the  morning's  first  dew  on  the  flow'r, 
I  could  harm  what  I  love,  —  as  the  sun's  wanton  ray 
But  smiles  on  the  dew-drop  to  waste  it  away. 

No  —  beaming  with  light  as  those  young  features  are 
There 's  a  light  round  thy  heart  which  is  lovelier  far: 
It  is  not  that  check  —  't  is  the  soul  dawning  clear 
Thro'  its  innocent  blush  makes  thy  beauty  so  dear ; 
As  the  sky  we  look  up  to,  though  glorious  and  fair, 
[s  look'd  up  to  the  more,  because  Heaven  lies  there ! 


ECHO. 


How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes 

To  music  at  night, 
When,  roused  by  lute  or  horn,  she  wakeaii 
And  far  away,  o'er  lawns  and  lakes. 

Goes  answering  light 


IRISH     MRI.ODIKh.  323 

Vet  Love  hath  echoes  truer  far, 

And  far  more  sweet. 
Than  e'er  beneaUi  tlie  tuoonlight's  star. 
Of  horn,  or  lute,  or  soft  guuai 

The  songs  repeat 

•T  is  when  the  sigh,  in  youth  sincere, 

And  only  then,  — 
The  sigh  that  'a  breathed  for  one  to  hear, 
Is  by  that  one,  that  only  dear, 

Breathed  back  again ! 


THO'  THS   LAST  GLIMPSE   OF   ERIN   WITH 
SORROW   I   SEE. 

Tho'  the  last  glimpse  of  Erin  with  sorrow  I  see. 

Yet  wherever  tliou  art  shall  seem  Erin  to  ine ; 

In  exile  thy  bosom  shall  still  be  my  home, 

And  thine  eyes  make  my  climate  wherever  we  roam. 

To  the  gloom  of  some  desert  or  cold  rocky  shore, 
Where  tiie  eye  of  the  stranger  can  haunt  us  no  more, 
I  will  fly  with  my  Coulin,  and  think  the  rough  wind 
Less  rude  tlian  the  foes  we  leave  frowning  behind. 

And  I  '11  gaze  on  thy  gold  hair  as  gT&ceful  it  wreaths, 
And  hang  o'er  thy  soft  harp,  as  wildly  it  breathes  ; 
Nor  dread  that  the  cold-hearted  Saxon  will  tear 
One  chord  from  that  harp,  or  one  lock  from  that  hair 


324 


AS   VANQUISH'D  ERIN 

Ab  vanquish'd  Erin  wept  beside 

The  Boyne's  ill-fated  river. 
She  saw  where  Discord,  in  the  tide, 

Had  iropp'd  his  loaded  quiver. 
"  Lie  hid,"  she  cried,  "  ye  venom'd  darts, 

Where  mortal  eye  may  shun  you ; 
Lie  hid  —  the  stain  of  manly  hearts, 

That  bled  for  me,  is  on  you." 

But  vain  her  wish,  her  weepuig  vain,  — 
As  Time  too  well  hath  taught  her  — 

Each  year  the  Fiend  returns  again. 
And  dives  into  that  water  ; 

And  brings,  triumphant,  from  beneath 
His  shafts  of  desolation, 

And  sends  them,  wing'd  with  worse  than  de«tl^ 

^  Through  all  her  madd'ning  nation. 

Alas  for  her  who  sits  and  mourns, 

Ev'n  now,  beside  that  river  — 
Unwearied  still  the  Fiend  returns, 

And  stored  is  still  his  quiver. 
«♦  When  will  this  end,  ye  Powers  of  Good  ?  " 

She  weeping  asks  for  ever ; 
But  only  hears,  from  out  that  flood, 

The  Demon  answer,  "  Never ' ' 


'3'^o 


WEEP  ON,  WEEP  ON. 

Weep  on,  weep  on,  your  hour  is  past ; 

Your  dreams  of  pride  are  o'er ; 
The  fatal  chain  is  round  you  cast, 

And  you  are  men  no  more. 
In  vain  the  hero's  heart  hath  bled ; 

The  sage's  tongue  hath  warn'd  in  vain  , 
Oh,  Freedom !  once  thy  flame  hath  fled, 

It  never  lights  again. 

Weep  on  —  perhaps  in  after  days, 

They  '11  learn  to  love  your  name  ; 
When  many  a  deed  may  wake  in  praise 

That  long  hath  slept  in  blame. 
And  when  they  tread  the  ruin'd  Isle, 

Where  rest,  at  length,  the  lord  and  slavp, 
They  '11  wond'ring  ask,  how  hands  so  vile 

Could  conquer  hearts  so  brave  ? 

"  'T  was  fate,"  they  '11  say,  "  a  wayward  fate 

Your  web  of  discord  wove  ; 
And  while  your  tyrants  join'd  in  hate. 

You  never  join'd  in  k»ve. 
But  hearts  fell  off  that  ought  to  twme, 

And  man  profaned  what  God  had  given , 
Till  some  were  heard  to  curse  the  shriao 

Where  others  knelt  to  heaven ! " 

38 


DEAR   HARP   OF  MY  COUNTRY. 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country  !  in  darkness  I  {bund  thee, 

Tlie  cold  chain  of  silence  had  hung  o'er  thee  long, 
When  proudly,  my  own  Island  Harp,  I  unbound  thee, 

And  gave  all  thy  chords  to  light,  ireedom,  and  song 
The  warm  lay  of  love  and  the  light  note  of  gladness 

Have  waken'd  thy  fondest,  thy  liveliest  tlirill ; 
But,  so  oft  hast  thou  echo'd  the  deep  sigh  of  sadness 

That  ev'n  in  thy  mirth  it  will  steal  from  thee  still. 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country !  farewell  to  tliy  numbers, 

This  sweet  wreath  of  song  is  the  last  we  shall  twine 
Go,  sleep  with  the  sunshine  of  Fame  on  thy  slumbers, 

Till  touch'd  by  some  hand  less  unworthy  than  mine 
If  the  pulse  of  tlie  patriot,  soldier,  or  lover, 

Have  throbb'd  at  our  lay,  't  is  thy  glory  alone ; 
I  was  biU  as  the  wind,  passing  heedlessly  over, 

And  all  the  wild  sweetness  I  waked  was  thy  own. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SPRITE. 

Iw  yonder  valley  there  dwelt,  alone, 

A  youth,  whose  moments  had  calmly  flown, 

Till  spells  came  o'er  him,  and,  day  and  night. 

He  was  haunted  and  watch'd  by  a  Mountain  Spiita 


IRISH     MELODIES.  327 

As  once,  by  moonlight,  he  wander'd  o'er 
The  golden  sands  of  that  island  shore, 
A  footprint  sparkled  before  his  sight  -^ 
T  was  tlie  fairy  foot  of  the  Mountain  Sprite  \ 

Beside  a  fountain,  one  sunny  day, 

As  bending  over  the  stream  he  lay. 

There  peep'd  down  o'er  him  two  eyes  of  light, 

And  he  saw  in  that  mirror  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

He  turn'd,  but,  lo,  like  a  startled  bird, 

That  spirit  fled  !  —  and  the  youth  but  heard 

Sweet  music,  such  as  marks  the  flight 

Of  some  bird  of  song,  from  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

One  night,  still  haunted  by  tliat  bright  look. 

The  boy,  bewilder'd,  his  pencil  took, 

And,  guided  only  by  memory's  light, 

Drew  tlie  once-seen  form  of  tlie  Mountain  Spnta. 

"  Oh  thou,  who  lovest  the  shadow* ,"  cried, 
A  voice,  low  whisp'ring  by  his  side, 
♦*  Now  turn  and  see,"  —  here  the  youth's  deligbk 
Seal'd  the  rosy  lips  of  the  Mountam  Sprite 

"  Of  all  the  Spirits  of  land  and  sea," 

Then  rapt  he  murnmr'd,  "  there 's  none  like  thee ; 

And  oft,  oh  oft,  may  tliy  foot  thus  light 

In  this  lonely  bower,  sweet  Mountain  Sprite ' " 


3ii8 


LAY   HIS  SWORD   BY   HIS   SIDE. 

IjIT  his  sword  by  his  side,  it  hath  served  him  too  wel 

Not  to  rest  near  his  pillow  below ; 
To  tlie  last  moment  true,  from  his  hand  ere  it  fell, 

Its  point  was  still  turn'd  to  a  flying  foe. 
Fellow-lab'rers  in  life,  let  them  slumber  in  death, 

Side  by  side,  as  becomes  the  reposing  brave,  — 
That  sword  which  he  loved  still  unbroke  in  its  sheatb> 

And  himself  unsubdued  in  his  grave. 

Yet  pause  —  for,  in  fancy,  a  still  voice  I  hear, 

As  if  breathed  from  his  brave  heart's  remains  ,  — 
Faint  echo  of  that  which,  in  Slavery's  ear, 

Once  sounded  tlie  war-word,  "  Burst  your  chains  !  " 
And  it  cries,  from  the  grave  where  the  hero  lies  deep, 

"  Tho'  the  day  of  your  Chieftain  forever  hath  set, 
O  leave  not  his  sword  thus  inglorious  to  sleep,  — 

It  hath  victory's  life  in  it  yet ! 

"  Should  some  alien,  unworthy  such  weapon  to  wield. 

Dare  to  touch  thee,  my  own  gallant  sword, 
Then  rest  in  thy  sheath,  like  a  talisman  seal'd. 

Or  return  to  the  grave  of  thy  chainless  lord. 
But,  if  grasp'd  by  a  hand  that  hath  learn'd  the  proud  use 

Of  a  falchion,  like  tliee,  on  the  battle-plain,  — 
Then,  at  Liberty's  summons,  like  lightning  let  loose, 

Leap  forth  from  thy  dark  sheath  again  ! " 


329 


«>H    COULD  WE  DO   WITH   THIS   WORLH 
OF  OURS. 

Oh,  could  we  do  with  this  world  of  oure 
As  thou  dost  with  thy  garden  bowers, 
Reject  the  weeds  and  keep  the  flowers. 

What  a  heaven  on  earth  we  'd  make  it ! 
So  bright  a  dwelling  should  be  our  own, 
So  warranted  free  from  sigh  or  frown, 
That  angels  soon  would  be  coming  dowr»,  }  { 

By  the  week  or  month  to  take  it  j 

Like  those  gay  flies  that  wing  through  air,  1 1 

And  in  themselves  a  lustre  bear,  I  j 

A  stock  of  light,  still  ready  there,  I 

Whenever  they  wish  to  use  it ;  i 

So,  in  this  world  I  'd  make  for  theo  \ 

Our  hearts  should  all  like  fire-flies  be,  I  j 

And  the  flash  of  wit  or  poesy  '  j 

Break  forth  whenever  we  choose  it  j  | 

While  ev'ry  joy  that  glads  our  sphere  [ ! 

Hath  still  some  shadow  hov'ring  near,  j  j 

In  this  new  world  of  ours,  my  dear,  •; 

Such  shadows  will  all  be  omitted  •  ■  [  j 

Unless  they  're  like  that  graceful  one,  ( ' 

Which,  when  thou  'rt  dancing  in  the  su!\  ' 

Still  near  thee,  leaves  a  charm  upon  j  ■ 

Each  spot  where  it  hath  flitted  '  1 1 

28*  i 


3.30 


FORGET   NOT   THE  FIELD. 

Forget  not  the  field  where  they  perish'd, 

Tlie  truest,  the  last  of  the  brave, 
All  gone  —  and  the  bright  hope  we  cherish'd 

Gone  with  them,  and  quench'd  in  their  grave 

Oh!  could  we  from  death  but  recover 
Those  hearts  as  they  bounded  before, 

In  the  face  of  high  heav'n  to  fight  over 
That  combat  for  freedom  once  more ;  — 

Could  the  chain  for  an  instant  be  riven 
Which  Tyranny  flung  round  us  then, 

No,  't  is  not  in  Man,  nor  in  Heaven, 

To  let  Tyranny  bind  it  again !  " 

But 't  is  past —  and  tho'  blazon'd  in  story 

The  name  of  our  Victor  may  be. 
Accursed  is  the  march  of  that  glory 

Which  treads  o'er  the  hearts  of  the  free. 

Far  dearer  the  grave  or  the  prison. 

Illumed  by  one  patriot  name, 
Than  the  trophies  of  all,  who  have  risen 

On  LibertyV,  ruins  to  fame. 


331 


IF  THOU'LT  BE  MINE. 

Ir  thou  'It  be  mine,  the  treasures  of  air, 
Of  earth,  and  sea,  shall  lie  at  thy  feet ; 

Whatever  in  Fancy's  eye  looks  fair, 

Or  in  Hope's  sweet  music  sounds  most  sweet, 
shall  be  ours  —  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love ! 

Bright  flowers  shall  bloom  wherever  we  rove, 
A  voice  divine  shall  talk  in  each  stream  ; 

The  stars  shall  look  like  worlds  of  love. 
And  this  earth  be  all  one  beautiful  dream 
In  our  eyes  —  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love ! 

And  thoughts,  whose  source  is  hidden  and  high,     . 

Like  streams,  that  come  from  heaven-ward  hilla. 
Shall  keep  our  hearts,  like  meads,  that  lie 

To  be  bathed  by  those  eternal  rills. 
Ever  green,  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love ! 

AH  this  and  more  the  Spirit  of  Love 

Can  breathe  o'er  them,  who  feel  his  spells  : 

That  heaven,  which  forms  his  home  above, 
lie  can  make  on  earth,  wherever  he  dwells. 
As  lliou  'It  own,  —  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love 


332 


SAIL  ON,  SAIL  ON. 

Sail  on,  sail  on,  thou  fearless  bark  — 

Wherever  blows  the  welcome  wind. 
It  cannot  lead  to  scenes  more  dark. 

More  sad  than  those  we  leave  behind. 
Each  wave  that  passes  seems  to  say, 

"  Though  death  beneath  our  smile  may  be, 
Less  cold  we  are,  less  false  than  they. 

Whose  smiling  wreck'd  thy  hopes  and  thee." 

Sail  on,  sail  on,  —  through  endless  space  — 

Through  calm  —  through  tempest — stop  no  more 
The  stormiest  sea 's  a  resting-place 

To  him  who  leaves  such  hearts  on  shore. 
Or  —  if  some  desert  land  we  meet. 

Where  never  yet  false-hearted  men 
Profaned  a  world,  that  else  were  sweet,  — 

Then  rest  thee,  bark,  but  not  till  then. 


THE  MEETING   OF  THE  WATERa 

Thehi  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  tiiat  vale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters  meet , 
Oh !  the  last  rays  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart, 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  sralley  shall  fade  from  my  hear 


IRISH    MELODIES*  3ti3 

Yet  it  was  not  that  Nature  had  shed  o'er  the  sctn«» 
Her  purest  of  crystal  and  brightest  of  green ; 
T  was  not  her  soft  magic  of  streamlet  or  hill, 
Oh !  no,  —  it  was  something  more  exquisite  still. 

T  was  that  friends,  the  beloved  of  my  bosom,  wero 

near, 
Who  made  every  dear  scene  of  enchantment  more  dear 
And  who  felt  how  the  best  charms  of  nature  improve, 
When  we  see  them  reflected  from  looks  that  we  love 

Sweet  vale  of  Avoca !  how  calm  could  I  rest 

In  thy  bosom  of  shade,  with  the  friends  I  love  best, 

Where  tlie  storms  that  we  feel  in  this  cold  world  should 

cease, 
And  our  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  be  mingled  in  peace 


SHE  IS  FAR  FROM  THE  LAND. 

She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  hero  sleepe^ 

And  lovers  are  round  her,  sighing : 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  gaze,  and  'STseps, 

For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lying. 

She  sings  the  wild  song  of  her  dear  native  plains, 
Every  note  which  he  loved  awaking ;  — 

Ah !  little  they  thmk  who  delight  in  her  straina, 
How  the  heart  of  tlie  Minstrel  is  breaking. 


1 1  334  ^RISH     MELODIES 

j 

!  i  He  had  lived  tor  his  love,  for  his  country  he  died, 

j  They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwined  him ; 

Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  be  dried, 
Nor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him. 

Oh !  make  her  a  grave  where  the  sunbeams  rest, 
When  they  promise  a  glorious  morrow ; 

They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  smile  from  the  Wcei, 
From  her  own  loved  island  of  sorrow. 


NO,  NOT  MORE  WELCOME. 

No,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  numbers 

Of  music  fall  on  the  sleeper's  ear, 
When  half-awaking  from  fearful  slumbers, 

He  thinks  the  full  quire  of  heaven  is  near,  — 
Than  came  that  voice,  when,  all  forsaken. 

This  heart  long  had  sleeping  lain. 
Nor  thought  its  cold  pulse  would  ever  waken 

To  such  benign,  blessed  sounds  again. 

Sweet  voice  of  comfort !  't  was  like  the  stealings 

Of  summer  wind  thro'  some  wreathed  shells 
Each  secret  winding,  each  inmost  feeling 

Of  all  my  soul  echoed  to  its  spell. 
T  was  whisper'd  balm  —  't  was  sunshine  spoken ! 

I  'd  live  years  of  grief  and  pain 
To  have  my  long  sleep  of  sorrow  broken 

Bv  such  benign,  blessed  sounds  again. 


335 


DRINK  TO  HEB 

Drink  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh. 
The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy 
Oh !  woman's  heart  was  made 

For  minstrel  hands  alone ; 
By  otlier  fingers  play'd, 

It  yields  not  half  the  tone. 
Then  here 's  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh. 
The  girl,  who  gave  to  sonf 

What  gold  could  never  buy 

At  Beauty's  door  of  glass, 

When  Wealth  and  Wit  once  stoo*. 
rhey  ask'd  her,  "  which  might  pass  ?  * 

She  answer'd,  "  he,  who  could." 
With  golden  key  Wealth  thought 

To  pass  —  but 't  would  not  do : 
While  Wit  a  diamond  brought, 

Which  cut  his  bright  way  through 
So  here 's  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh, 
The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy. 

The  love  that  seeks  a  home 

Where  wealth  or  grandeur  shines, 


8J36  IRISH   MELODIES. 

Is  like  the  gloomy  gnome. 

That  dwells  in  dark  gold  mine* 
But  oh  !  the  poet's  love 

Can  boast  a  brighter  sphere ; 
Its  native  home 's  above, 

Tho'  woman  keeps  it  here. 
Then  drink  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh» 
The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy. 


THE  FORTUNE-TELLER. 

Down  in  the  valley  come  meet  me  to-nignt, 

And  I  'II  tell  you  your  fortune  truly 
As  ever  was  told,  by  the  new-moon's  light, 
To  a  young  maiden,  shining  as  newly 

But,  for  the  world,  let  no  one  be  nigh, 
Lest  haply  the  stars  should  deceive  me , 

Such  secrets  between  you  and  me  and  the  sky 
Should  never  go  farther,  believe  me. 

If  at  that  hour  the  heav'ns  be  not  dim, 
My  science  shall  call  up  before  you 

A  male  apparition,  the  image  of  him 
Whose  destmy  't  is  to  adore  you 


lAiSH    BI£1.UDIES  337 

And  it  to  that  phantom  you  11  be  kind, 

So  fondly  around  you  he  '11  hover, 
You  ^l  hardly,  my  dear,  any  difference  find 

Twixt  him  and  a  true  living  lover. 

Down  at  your  feet,  in  the  paJe  moonlight, 
He'll  kneel,  with  a  warmth  of  devotion  — 

An  ardor,  of  which  such  an  innocent  sprite 
You  'd  scarcely  believe  had  a  notion. 

^hat  other  tfaougnts  and  events  may  arise, 
As  in  destiny's  book  I  've  not  seen  them. 

Must  only  be  left  to  the  stars  and  your  ejee 
To  settle,  ere  mominif,  between  them- 


ISATIOJNAL     AIRS* 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 

A   TEMPLE  TO  FRIENDSHIP 

[SPANISH   AIK.] 

"A  Temple  to  Friendship,"  said  Laura,  enchanted, 

I'll  build  in  this  garden,  —  the  thought  is  divine!" 
Her  temple  wris  built,  and  she  now  only  wanted, 

An  image  of  Friendship  to  place  on  the  snnne. 
She  flew  to  a  sculptor,  who  set  down  before  her 

A  Friendship,  the  fairest  his  art  could  invent ; 
But  so  cold  and  so  dull,  tliat  the  youthful  adorer 

Saw  plainly  this  was  not  the  idol  she  meant 

••  Ob '     ever,"  she  cried,  "  could  I  think  of  enshrining 

An  image,  whose  looks  are  so  joyless  and  dim ;  — 
But  yon  little  god,  upon  roses  reclining. 

We  '11  make,  if  you  please.  Sir,  a  Friendship  of  him  " 
So  the  bargain  was  struck ;  with  the  little  god  laden 

She  joyfully  flew  to  her  shrine  in  the  grove : 
"  Farewell,"  said   the   sculptor,  "  you  're  not  the  first 
maiden 

Who  came  but  for  Friendship  and  took  away  Love." 


342 


ALL  THAT'S  BRIGHT  MUST  FADR 
[rwBiAN  Am.] 

All  that 's  bright  must  fade,  — 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest ; 
All  that  s  sweet  was  made, 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest 
Stars  that  shine  and  fall ;  — 

The  flower  that  drops  in  springing ;  ■«- 
These,  alas  !  are  types  of  all 

To  which  our  hearts  are  clinging. 
All  that 's  bright  must  fade,  — 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest ; 
All  that 's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest ' 

Who  would  seek  or  prize 

Delights  that  end  in  aching  ? 
Who  would  trust  to  ties 

That  every  hour  are  breaking  ? 
Better  far  to  be 

In  utter  darkness  lying, 
Than  to  be  bless'd  with  light  and  see 

That  light  forever  flying. 
All  tna'  's  bright  must  fade,  — 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest ; 
All  that 's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest  \ 


343 


REASON,  FOLLY     AND   BEAUTY 

[ITALIAN   AIR.l 

Reason,  and  Folly,  and  Beauty,  they  say. 
Went  on  a  party  of  pleasure  one  day 

Folly  play'd 

Around  the  maid, 
The  bells  of  his  cap  rung  merrily  out ; 

While  Reason  took 

To  his  sermon-book  — 
Uh  !  which  was  the  pleasanter  no  one  need  doubt, 
Which  was  the  pleasanter  no  one  need  doubt 


Beauty,  who  likes  to  be  thought  very  sage, 
'^'um'd  for  a  moment  to  Reason's  dull  page. 

Till  Folly  said, 

"  Look  here,  sweet  maid ! "  — 
The  sight  of  his  eip  brought  her  back  to  herself 

While  Reason  read 

His  leaves  of  lead, 
With  no  one  to  mind  him,  poor  sensible  elf! 
No,  —  no  one  to  mind  him,  poor  sensible  elf 


Then  Reason  grew  jealous  ot  l-'olly's  gay  cap 
Had  he  that  on,  he  her  heart  might  entrap  — 

«  There  it  is," 

Quoth  Folly,  "  old  quiz ! " 


344  NATIONAL    AIRS. 

(Polly  waa  always  good-natured,  'tis  said, 

"  Und«r  tlie  sun 

There 's  no  such  fun, 
As  Reafaon  with  my  cap  and  bells  on  his  head, 
Reason  witli  my  cap  and  bells  on  his  head !  " 

But  Reason  the  head-dress  so  awkwardly  wore. 
That  Beauty  now  liked  him  still  less  than  before 

While  Folly  took 

Old  Reason's  book, 
And  twisted  the  leaves  in  a  cap  of  such  ton. 

That  Beauty  vow'd 

(Though  not  aloud) 
She  liked  him  still  better  in  that  than  his  own, 
Yes,  —  liked  him  still  better  in  that  than  his  owa 


THOSE   EVENING   BELLS. 

[AI».  —  THE  BELLS   OF  ST.   PETERSBUaOH.^ 

Those  evening  bells  !  those  evening  bells  I 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  tellfl, 
Of  youth,  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time, 
When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime. 

Those  joyous  hours  are  pass'd  away ; 
And  many  a  heart,  that  then  was  gay, 
Withm  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells, 
And  hears  no  more  those  evening  bell*. 


NATIONAL,    AIR9.  345 

And  so  't  will  be  when  I  am  gone  ; 
That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on, 
While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  deJs, 
And  sinfif  your  praise,  sweet  evening  bells  J 


THERE  COMES  A  TIME. 

[qbbman  AIB.J 

There  comes  a  time,  a  dreary  time. 

To  him  whose  heart  hath  flown 
O'er  all  the  fields  of  youth's  sweet  prime, 

And  made  each  flower  its  own. 
'T  is  when  his  soul  must  first  renounce 

Those  dreams  so  bright,  so  fond ; 
Oh  !  then 's  the  time  to  die  at  once, 

For  life  has  naught  beyond. 

When  sets  the  sun  on  Afric's  shore, 

That  instant  all  is  night ; 
And  so  should  life  at  once  be  o'er, 

When  Love  withdraws  his  light ;  — 
Nor,  like  our  lorthern  day,  gleam  or. 

Through  twilight's  dim  delay, 
The  cold  remains  of  lustre  gone. 

Of  fire  long  piss'd  awav 


LOVE  AND  HOPE. 

i^SWIBB   A.IB.] 

At  nom,  beside  yon  summer  sea, 

Young  Hope  and  Love  reclined ; 
But  scarce  had  noontide  come,  when  le 
Into  his  bark  leap'd  smilingly, 
And  left  poor  Hope  behind. 


"  I  go,"  said  Love,  "to  sail  awhile 

Across  this  sunny  main  ; " 
And  then  so  sweet  his  parting  smile, 
That  Hope,  who  never  dream'd  of  guile, 
Believed  he  'd  come  again.   ■ 


She  linger'd  there  till  evening's  beam 

Along  the  waters  lay  ; 
And  o'er  the  sands,  in  thoughtful  dream, 
Oft  traced  his  name,  which  still  the  stream 

As  often  wash'd  away. 


At  length  a  sail  appears  in  sight. 

And  tow'rds  the  nviiden  moves ! 
T  is  Wealth  that  comes,  and  gay  and  brighti 
His  golden  bark  reflects  the  light, 
But  ah !  it  is  not  Love's. 


NATIONAL    AIRS.  347 

Another  sail  —  't  wa.s  I'Viendship  show'd 

Her  night-lamp  o'er  the  sea  ; 
And  cahn  the  hght  that  lamp  bestow'd; 
But  Love  had  lights  that  wanner  glow'd, 

And  where,  alas  !  was  he  ' 


Now  fast  around  the  sea  and  shore 

Night  threw  her  darkling  chain  ; 
The  sunny  sails  were  seen  no  more, 
Hope's  Tioming  dreams  of  bliss  were  o'or,- 
Love  never  came  again. 


HE  CRYSTAI^HUNTERS 

[SWISS   AIR.] 

O'er  mountains  bright 

Witn  snow  and  light, 
We  Crystal-Hunters  speed  along  ; 

While  rocks  and  caves 

And  icy  waves, 
Each  instant  echo  to  our  song; 
And  when  we  meet  with  store  of  gems, 
We  grudge  not  kings  tlieir  diadems. 

O'er  mountains  bright 

With  snow  and  light 


348  NATIONAL    AIR8. 

Wc  Crystal-Hunters  speed  along  j 
While  grots  and  caves, 
And  icy  waves, 

Each  instant  echo  to  our  song. 

Not  half  so  ofl  the  lover  dreams 
Of  sparkles  from  his  lady's  eyes. 

As  we  of  those  refreshing  gleams 
That  tell  where  deep  the  crystal  lies 

Though,  next  to  crystal,  we  too  grant 

That  ladies'  eyes  may  most  enchant. 
O'er  mountains  bright,  &c. 

Sometimes,  when  on  the  Alpine  rose 

The  golden  sunset  leaves  its  ray, 
So  like  a  gem  the  flow'ret  glows, 

We  thither  bend  our  headlong  way ; 
And,  though  we  find  no  treasure  there, 
We  bless  the  rose  that  shines  so  fair. 
O'er  mountains  bright 
Witli  snow  and  light, 
We  Crystal-Hunters  speed  along 
While  rocks  and  caves, 
And  icy  waves, 
Each  instant  echo  to  our  mjii^ 


34y 


PARE  THEE  WELL,  THOU  LOVELY  ONE! 

[SICILIAN  AIR.] 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one ! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone. 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 
Thy  words,  whate'or  their  flatt'ring  spell, 

Could  scarce  have  thus  deceived ; 
But  eyes  that  acted  truth  so  well 

Were  sure  to  be  believed. 
Then,  fare  tliee  well,  thou  lovely  one  . 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 

Yet  those  eyes  look  constant  still. 

True  as  stars  they  keep  their  light , 
Still  those  cheeks  their  pledge  fulfil 

Of  blushinff  always  bright 
T  is  only  on  thy  changeful  heart 

The  blame  of  falsehood  lies ; 
Love  lives  in  every  other  part, 

But  there,  alas !  he  dies. 
Then,  fare  tliee  well,  thou  lovely  one  ( 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

love's  sweet  life  is  o'er 

30 


GAYLY   SOUNDS  THE  CASTANET 

[MALTESE  Aia.J 

Gatlt  sounds  the  castanet, 

Beating  time  to  bounding  feet, 
When,  after  daylight's  golden  set, 

Maids  and  youths  by  moonlight  meet 
Oh,  then,  how  sweet  to  move 

Through  all  that  maze  of  mirth. 
Led  by  light  from  eyes  we  love 

Beyond  all  eyes  on  earth. 

Then,  the  joyous  banquet  spread 

On  the  cool  and  fragrant  ground. 
With  heav'n's  bright  sparklers  overhead. 

And  still  brighter  sparkling  round. 
Oh,  then,  how  sweet  to  say 

Into  some  loved  one's  ear, 
Thoughts  reserved  through  many  a  day 

To  be  thus  whisper'd  here. 

When  the  dance  and  feaat  are  done. 

Arm  in  arm  as  home  we  stray. 
How  sweet  to  see  the  dawning  sun 

O'er  her  cheek's  warm  blushes  play 
Then,  too,  the  farewell  kiss  — 

The  words,  whose  parting  tone 
Lingers  still  in  dreams  of  bliss, 

That  haunt  young  hearts  alone. 


I 


Orr,  IN  THE  STILLY  NIGHT. 

[scotch    AlK.] 

Oft,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me ; 
The  smiles,  the  tears. 
Of  boyhood's  years. 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken ; 
The  eyes  that  shone, 
Now  dimm'd  and  gone. 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken ! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  hath  bound  mB, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 


When  I  remember  all 

The  friends,  so  link'd  together, 
I  've  seen  around  me  fall, 
Like  leaves  in  wintry  weather 
I  feel  like  one, 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted. 
Whose  lights  are  fled. 
Whose  garland 's  dead, 
And  aU  but  he  departed ! 


"352  nations:    airs 

Thus,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 

Of  other  days  around  me 


PEACE  BE   AROUND  THEE. 

[SCOTCH   AIR.] 

Peace  be  around  thee,  wherever  thou  rovest 

May  life  be  for  thee  one  summer's  day 
And  all  tliat  thou  wishest,  and  all  that  thou  lovea^ 

Come  smiling  around  thy  sunny  way  ! 
If  sorrow  e'er  this  calm  should  break, 

May  even  thy  tears  pass  off  so  lightly. 
Like  spring-showers,  they  '11  only  make 

The  smiles  tliat  follow  shine  more  brightly. 

May  Time,  who  sheds  his  blight  o'er  all, 

And  daily  dooms  some  joy  to  death, 
O'er  thee  let  years  so  gently  fall, 

They  shall  not  crush  one  flower  beneath. 
As  half  in  shade  and  half  in  sun 

This  world  along  its  path  advances. 
May  that  side  the  sun 's  upon 

Be  all  tliat  e'er  shall  meet  thy  glances ' 


353 


ROW  GENTLY   HERE 

[YENETIAN   AIB.j 

Row  gently  here, 

My  gondolier, 

So  softly  wake  the  tide, 

That  not  an  ear 

On  earth  may  hear. 

But  hers  to  whom  we  glide. 

Had  Heaven  but  tongues  to  speak,  as  weH  [  | 

As  starry  eyes  to  see,  .  \ 

Oh,  think  what  tales  't  would  have  to  tell  j  | 

Of  wandering  youths  like  me '  ^  j 

I 

Now  rest  theo  here,  [ 

My  gondolier;  ;i 

Hush,  hush,  for  up  I  go,  '  j 

To  climb  yon  light  ■ 

Balcony's  height,  ' 

While  thou  keep'st  watch  below.  1 1 

Ah!  did  we  take  for  Heaven  above  jl 

But  half  such  pains  as  we  I  j 

Take,  day  and  night,  for  woman's  love,  jj 

What  Angels  we  should  be  •  i  j 

II 


354 


MY   HARP   HAS  ONE  UNCHANGING 
THEMJS, 

[SWEDISH  AIK.] 

Mr  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme, 

One  strain  that  still  comes  o'er 
Its  languid  chord,  as  't  were  a  dream 

Of  joy  that 's  now  no  more. 
In  vain  I  try,  with  livelier  air, 

To  wake  the  breathing  string ; 
That  voice  of  other  times  is  there, 

And  saddens  all  I  sing. 

Breathe  on,  breathe  on,  tliou  languid  strain, 

Henceforth  be  all  my  own ; 
Though  thou  art  oft  so  full  of  pain 

Few  hearts  can  bear  thy  tone. 
Yet  oft  thou  'rt  sweet,  as  if  the  sigh, 

The  breath  that  Pleasure's  wings 
Gave  out,  when  last  they  wantoa'd  by 

Were  still  upon  thy  strings. 


COME,  CHASE  THAT  STARTING  TRAB 
AWA\. 

[FRENCH  AIR.] 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  away 

Ere  mine  to  meet  it  springs  ; 
To-night,  at  least,  to-night  be  gay, 

Whate'er  to-morrow  brings. 
Like  sunset  gleams,  that  linger  late     * 

When  all  is  dark'ning  fast. 
Are  hours  like  these  we  snatch  from  Fate  -  - 

The  brightest,  and  the  last 

Then,  chase  that  starting  tear,  &c. 

To  gild  the  deep'ning  gloom,  if  Heaven 

But  one  bright  hour  allow, 
Oh,  think  that  one  bright  hour  is  given, 

In  all  its  splendor,  now. 
Let  'b  live  it  out  —  tlien  sink  in  night, 

Like  waves  that  from  the  shore 
One  minute  swell,  are  touch'd  with  light, 

Then  lost  for  evermore ! 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear,  &c 


356 


WHO'I^   BUY  MY  LOVE-KNOTS' 

LP0BTUGUE8E    A.IK.1 

rfrMEN,  late  his  love-knots  selling, 
ijall'd  at  many  a  maiden's  dwelling, 
None  could  doubt,  who  saw  or  knew  them, 
Hymen's  call  was  welcome  to  them. 

"  Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ? 

Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ?  " 
Soon  as  tliat  sweet  cry  resounded, 
How  his  baskets  were  surrounded ! 

Maids,  who  now  first  dream'd  of  trying 
These  gay  knots  of  Hymen's  tying ; 
Dames,  who  long  had  sat  to  watch  him 
Passing  by,  but  ne'er  could  catch  him  ; 

"  Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ? 

Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ?  "  - 
All  at  that  sweet  cry  asseuibled  ; 
Some  laugh'd,  some  blush'd,  and  some  trembled 

♦  Here  are  knots,"  said  Hymen,  takmg 
Some  loose  flowers,  "  of  Love's  own  making 
Here  are  gold  ones  — you  may  trust  'em"  — • 
(These,  of  course,  found  ready  custom,) 

"  Come,  buy  my  love-knots  ! 

Come,  buy  my  love-knots  ! 
Some  are  labell'd  '  Knots  to  tie  men  — 
Love  the  maker  —  Bought  of  Hymen.' " 


NATIONAL    AIRS.  357 

Scarce  their  bargains  were  completed, 
When  tlie  nymphs  all  cried,  "  VVe  're  clieatcd 
See  these  flowers  —  tliey  're  drooping  sadly ; 
This  gold-knot,  too,  ties  but  badly  — 

Who  'd  buy  such  love-knots  ? 

Who'd  buy  such  love-knots  ? 
Even  this  tie,  with  Love's  name  round  it  - 
All  a  sham  —  He  never  bound  it" 

Love,  who  saw  the  whole  proceeding, 
Would  have  laugh'd,  but  for  good-breeding ; 
While  Old  Hymen,  who  was  used  to 
Cries  like  that  these  dames  gave  loose  to  — 

"  Take  back  our  love-knots ! 

Take  back  our  love-knota  •  " 
Coolly  said,  *"  There 's  no  returning 
Wares  on  Hymen's  hands  —  Good  m<jnung  . " 


BRIGHT  BE  THY  DREAM?. 

[W£L8H  AIK.] 

BRieuT  be  thy  dreams  —  may  all  thy  weeping 
Turn  into  smiles  while  thou  art  sleeping. 
May  those  by  death  or  seas  removed, 
The  friends,  who  in  thy  sprmg-time  knew  the«i 

All,  thou  hast  ever  prized  or  loved, 
tn  dreanisi  come  smiling  to  thee ' 


358  IVATIONAl,    AIRS. 

There  may  tlie  child,  whose  love  lay  deepest, 
Dearest  of  all,  come  while  thou  sleepest; 
Still  as  she  was  —  no  charm  forgot  — 
No  lustre  lost  that  life  had  given ; 

Or,  if  changed,  but  changed  to  what 
Thou  'It  find  her  yet  in  Heaven ! 


LIFE  ONE  WHO,  DOOM'D 

Like  one  who,  doom'd  o'er  distant  seas, 

His  weary  path  to  measure. 
When  home  at  length,  with  fav'ring  breeze^ 

He  brings  the  far -sought  treasure ; 

His  ship,  in  sight  of  shore,  goes  down, 
That  shore  to  which  he  hasted  ; 

And  all  the  wealth  he  thought  his  own 
Is  o'er  the  waters  wasted. 

Like  him,  this  Reart,  thro'  many  a  track 

Of  toil  and  sorrow  straying. 
One  hope  alone  brought  fondly  back, 

Its  toil  and  grief  repaymg. 

Like  him,  alas,  I  see  that  ray 

Of  hope  before  me  perish. 
And  one  dark  minute  sweep  away 

What  years  were  given  to  cherish. 


359 


THOUGH  TIS  ALL  BUT  A  DREAM. 

[FRENCH   AIK.j 

Though  't  is  all  but  a  dream  at  the  best, 
And  still,  when  happiest,  soonest  o'er, 
Yet,  even  in  a  dream,  to  be  blesa'd 
Is  so  sweet,  that  I  ask  for  no  more. 

The  bosom  that  opes 

With  earliest  hopes. 
The  soonest  finds  those  hopes  untrue , 

As  flowers  that  first 

In  spring-time  burst 
The  earliest  wither  too  ! 

Ay  — 't  is  all  but  a  dream,  &o. 

Though  by  Friendship  we  oft  are  deceived, 

And  find  Love's  sunshine  soon  o'ercaat, 
Vet  Friendship  will  still  be  believed, 
And  Love  trusted  on  to  the  last. 

The  web  'mong  the  leaves 

The  spider  weaves 
Is  like  the  charm  Hope  hangs  o'er  men 

Though  often  she  sees 

T  is  broke  by  the  breeze, 
She  spms  the  bright  tissue  again. 

Ay  —  't  is  all  but  a  dream,  &^. 


360 


JOYS  OF  YOUTH,   NOW  FLEETING' 

[POUTUGTJESE  AlK.] 

Whisp'rinos,  heard  by  wakeful  maids, 

To  whom  the  night-stars  guide  us ; 
Stolen  walks  through  moonlight  shades 
With  those  we  love  beside  us, 
Hearts  beating, 
At  meeting ; 
Tears  starting, 
At  parting ; 
Oh,  sweet  youth,  how  soon  it  fades ! 
Sweet  joys  of  youth,  how  fleeting ! 

Wand'rings  far  away  from  home. 

With  life  all  new  before  us ; 
Greetings  warm,  when  home  we  come, 

From  hearts  whose  prayers  watch'd  o'er  09 
Tears  starting, 
At  parting ; 
Hearts  beating, 
At  meeting ; 
Oh,  sweet  youth,  how  lost  on  some ! 
f  o  Bome,  how  bright  and  fleeting ! 


mi 


LOVE  IS  A   HUNTER-BO\. 

[langvedociak  atb.] 

Lots  is  a  hunter-boy, 

Who  makes  young  hearts  his  prej 
And,  in  his  nets  of  joy, 

Ensnares  theui  night  and  day. 
In  vain  conceal'd  they  lie  — 

Love  tracks  them  everywhere ; 
In  vain  aloft  they  fly  — 

Love  shoots  them  flying  there. 

But 't  is  his  joy  most  sweet. 

At  early  dawn  to  trace 
The  print  of  Beauty's  feet. 

And  give  the  trembler  chasft. 
And  if,  through  virgin  snow, 

He  tracks  her  footsteps  fair. 
How  sweet  for  Love  to  know 

None  went  before  him  there 

2J 


PLOW   ON,  THOD  SriIUxNG   RIVER, 

[POSTU QUEUE  AIB.J 

Plow  on,  thou  shining  nver ; 

But,  ere  thou  reach  the  sea, 
&eek  Ella's  bower,  and  give  her 

The  wreaths  I  fling  o'er  thee. 
And  tell  her  thus,  if  she  '11  be  mine 

The  current  of  our  lives  shall  be, 
With  joys  along  their  course  to  shin<\ 

Like  those  sweet  flowers  on  thee. 

But  if,  in  wand'ring  thither, 

Thou  find'st  she  mocks  my  prayer, 
Then  leave  those  wreaths  to  wither 

Upon  the  cold  bank  there ; 
And  tell  her  thus,  when  youth  is  o'er, 

Her  lone  and  loveless  charms  shall  bt 
ThrDwn  by  upon  life's  weedy  shore. 

Like  those  swjet  flowers  from  thee. 


GO.  THEN  ~T  IS  VAIN. 

[SICILIAN  AIX.J 

Go,  tnen  —  't  is  vain  to  Hover 

Thus  round  a  hope  that 's  dead ; 
At  length  my  dream  is  over ; 

'T  was  sweet  —  't  was  false  —  "t  is  flad  '■ 
Farewell !  since  naught  it  moves  thee. 

Such  truth  as  mine  to  see  — 
Some  one,  who  far  less  loves  thee, 

Perhaps  more  biess'd  will  be. 

Farewell,  sweet  eyes,  whose  brightnetis 

New  life  around  me  shed  ; 
Farewell,  false  heart,  whose  lightness 

Now  leaves  me  death  instead. 
Go,  now,  those  charms  surrender 

To  some  new  lover's  sign  — 
One  who,  though  far  less  tender 

May  be  more  biess'd  than  L 


364 


WHERE  SHALL  WE  BURV  OUR  SHAME 

[NEAFOLITAJr   A^IK.] 

Where  shall  we  bury  our  shame  ? 

Where,  in  what  desolate  place, 
Hide  the  last  wreck  of  a  rame 

Broken  and  stain'd  by  disgrace  ? 
Death  may  dissever  the  chain, 

Oppression  will  cease  when  we're  gon* 
But  the  dishonor,  the  stain. 

Die  as  we  may,  will  live  on. 

Was  It  for  this  we  sent  out 

Liberty's  cry  from  our  shore  ? 
Was  it  for  this  that  her  shout 

Thrill'd  to  tlie  world's  very  core  ? 
Thus  to  live  cowards  and  slaves!  — 

Oh,  ye  free  hearts  that  lie  dead. 
Do  you  not,  ev'n  in  your  graves. 

Shudder,  as  o'er  yc  u  we  tread  ? 


365 


TAKE  HENCE  THE  BOWL. 

LWBAPOIITAN  Am.J 

Take  hence  the  bowi;  —  tliough  beaming 

Brightly  as  bowl  e'er  shone, 
Oh,  it  but  sets  me  dreaming 

Of  happy  days  now  gone. 
There,  in  its  clear  reflection. 

As  in  a  wizard's  glass, 
Lost  hopes  and  dead  affection, 

Like  shades,  before  me  pasa 

Each  cup  I  drain  brings  hither 

Some  scenes  of  bliss  gone  by ;  — 
Bright  lips,  too  bright  to  wither. 

Warm  hearts,  too  warm  to  die. 
Till,  as  the  dream  comes  o'er  me 

Of  those  long-vanish'd  years, 
Alas,  the  wine  before  me 

Seems  turning  ail  to  tears ! 

31* 


366 


HARKl  THE  VESPER  HYMN    IS  STEALING 

l&TTSSIAltf  AUI..J 

Hark  !  the  vesper  hymn  is  eteaiing 

0*er  the  waters  soft  and  clear ; 
Nearer  yet  and  nearer  pealing, 
And  now  bursts  upon  the  ear: 
Jubilate,  Amen. 
Farther  now,  now  farther  stealing, 
Soft  it  fades  upon  the  ear : 
Jubilate,  Amen. 

Now,  like  moonlight  waves  retreating 

To  the  shore,  it  dies  along  ; 
Now,  like  angry  surges  meeting 
Breaks  tlie  mingled  tide  of  sorig: 
Jubilate,  Amen. 
Hush !  again,  like  waves,  retreating 
To  the  shore,  it  dies  along 
Jubilate,  Amen. 


367 


WHEN  THROUGH  THE  PIAZETTA 

ITENETIAN  AIB.J 

When  through  the  Piazetta 

Night  breathes  her  ''.ooi  air 
Then,  dearest  Ninetta, 

1 11  come  to  thee  there. 
Beneath  thy  mask  shrouded, 

I  '11  know  thee  afar, 
As  Love  knows,  Uiough  cloudeii 

His  own  Evening  Star. 

In  garb,  then,  resembling 

Some  gay  gondolier, 
1 11  whisper  thee,  trembling, 

"  Our  bark,  love  is  near ; 
Now,  now,  while  there  hove? 

Those  clouds  o'er  the  mooc, 
T  will  waft  thee  safe  over 

Yon  silent  Lagoon.* 


368 


WHEN   ABROAD  IN   THE  WORLD. 

When  abroad  in  the  world  thou  appearesi, 
And  the  young  and  the  lovely  are  there, 
To  my  heart  while  of  all  thou  'rt  the  dearest, 
To  my  eyes  thou  'rt  of  all  the  most  fair 
They  pass  one  by  one, 

Like  waves  of  the  sea, 
That  say  to  the  Sun, 

"  See,  how  fair  we  can  be." 
But  where  's  the  light  like  thine, 
In  sun  or  shade  to  shine  ? 
No  —  no,  'mong  them  all,  there  is  nothing  like  thoo, 
Nothing  like  thee. 

Oft,  of  old,  without  farewell  or  warning, 

Beauty's  self  used  to  steal  from  the  skies ; 
Fling  a  mist  round  her  head,  some  fine  morning, 
And  post  down  to  earth  in  disguise ; 
But,  no  matter  what  shroud 

Around  her  might  be, 
Men  peep'd  tJirough  the  cloud, 
And  whisper'd  "  'T  is  She." 
So  thou,  where  thousands  are, 
Shin'st  forth  the  only  star  — 
Yes,  yes,  'mong  them  all,  there  is  nothing  like  heo, 
Nothing  like  thee. 


369 


WHfiN  LOVE  IS  KIND 

When  Love  is  kind, 

Cheerful  and  free, 
Love  'e  sure  to  find 

Welcome  from  me. 

But  when  Love  brings 

Heartache  or  pang, 
Tears,  and  such  things  — 

Love  may  go  hang ' 

If  Love  can  sigh 

For  one  alone 
Well  pleased  am  I 

To  be  that  one. 

But  should  I  see  I 

Love  giv'n  to  rove 
To  two  or  three, 

Then  —  good-by.  Low  . 

Love  must,  in  short, 

Keep  fond  and  true 
Through  good  report. 

And  evil  too. 

Else,  here  I  swear, 

Young  Love  may  gts« 
For  aught  I  care  — 

To  Jeri'cb** 


370 


KEEP  THOSE   EYES   STILL   PURELY  MINE 

Keep  those  eyes  still  purely  mine 

Though  far  off  I  be : 
When  on  others  most  they  shine, 

Then  think  they  're  tum'd  on  me. 

Should  those  lips  as  now  respond 

To  sweet  minstrelsy, 
When  their  accents  seem  most  fond, 

Then  think  they  're  breathed  for  me. 

Make  what  hearts  thou  wilt  thy  own, 

If  when  all  on  thee 
Fix  their  charmed  thoughts  alone, 

Thou  think'st  the  while  on  mo. 


HEAR  ME  BUT  ONCE. 

[fkench  aib.] 

Hear  me  but  once,  while  o*er  the  grave, 
In  which  our  Love  lies  cold  and  dead, 

I  count  each  flatt'ring  hope  he  gavp 
Of  joye,  now  lost,  and  charms  now  fled. 


NATIONAL    AIRS.  H7j 

Who  could  liave  thought  the  smile  he  wor^ 
When  first  we  met,  would  fade  away  ? 

Or  that  a  chill  would  e'er  come  o'er 

Tho^e  eyes  so  bright  through  many  a  day  ' 
Hear  me  but  c  ace,  dw; 


THOU  LOV'ST  NO  MORK 

T;o  plam,  alas,  my  doom  is  spoken, 
No"  cnnst  thou  veil  the  sad  truth  o'er , 

Thy  heart  is  changed,  thy  vow  is  broken, 
Thou  lov'st  no  more  —  thou  lov'st  no  morci 

Though  kmdly  still  those  eyes  behold  me, 
The  smile  is  gone,  which  once  they  wore ; 

Though  fondly  still  those  arms  enfold  me, 
'T  is  not  the  same  —  tliou  lov'st  no  more 

Too  long  my  dream  of  bliss  believing, 
.    I  've  thought  thee  all  thou  wert  before ; 
But  now  —  alas  !  there 's  no  deceiving, 
T  is  all  too  plain,  thou  lov'st  no  more. 

Oh,  thou  as  soon  the  dead  couldst  waken, 

Ab  lost  affection's  life  restore. 
Give  peace  to  her  that  is  forsaken, 

Or  bring  back  him  who  loves  no  moio 


372 


HERE  SLEEPS  THE  BARD. 

[highland  Aia.J 

Here  sleeps  the  Bard  who  knew  so  well 
All  the  sweet  windings  of  Apollo  a  snell 
Whether  its  music  roU'd  like  torrents  near, 
Or  died,  like  distant  streamlets,  on  the  ear. 
Sleep,  sleep,  mute  bard  ;  alike  unheeded  now 
The  storm  and  zephyr  sweep  thy  lifeless  brow  ;  - 
That  storm,  whose  rush  is  like  thy  martial  lay ; 
That  breeze  which,  like  thy  love-song,  dies  away 


DO  NOT  SAY  THAT  LIFE  IS  WANING. 

Do  not  say  that  life  is  waning. 
Or  that  Hope's  sweet  day  is  set; 

While  I  've  thee  and  love  remainjag, 
Life  is  in  th'  horizon  yet. 

Do  not  think  those  charms  are  flying, 
Though  thy  roses  fade  and  fall ; 

Beauty  hath  a  grace  undying, 
Which  in  thee  survives  them  alL 


NATIONAL    AIRS  379 

Not  for  charms,  the  newest,  brightest, 
That  on  other  cheeks  may  shine, 

Would  I  change  the  least,  the  slighta* 
That  is  lingering  now  o'er  thine. 


If   IN  LOVING,  SINGING. 

Ir  in  loving,  singing,  night  and  day 
We  could  trifle  merrily  life  away. 
Like  atoms  dancing  in  the  beam 
Like  day-flies  skimming  o'er  the  stream, 
Or  summer  blossoms,  born  to  sigh 
Their  sweetness  out,  and  die  — 
How  brilliant,  thoughtless,  side  by  side, 
Thou  and  I  could  make  our  minutes  glido  i 
No  atoms  ever  glanced  so  bright 
No  day-flies  ever  danced  so  light, 
Nor  summer  blossoms  miz'd  their  sighi 
So  close,  as  thou  and  I ! 
aa 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


LINES 

WRITTEN   ON  LEAVING   PHILADK  LPHUk . 

Alcne  by  the  Schuylkill  a  wanderer  roved, 
And  bright  were  its  flowery  banks  to  his  eye ; 

But  far,  very  far,  were  the  friends  that  he  loved. 
And  he  gazed  on  its  flowery  banks  with  a  sigh. 

Oh  Nature,  though  blessed  and  bright  are  thy  rays, 
O'er  the  brow  of  creation  enchantingly  thrown. 

Yet  faint  are  they  all  to  the  lustre  that  plays 
In  a  smile  from  the  heart  that  is  fondlv  our  own. 

Nor  long  did  the  soul  of  the  stranger  remain 
Unbless'd  by  the  smile  he  had  languish'd  to  meet ; 

Though  scarce  did  he  hope  it  would  sooth  him  again, 
Till  the  threshold  of  home  had  been  press'd  by  his  feet 

But  the  lays  of  his  boyhood  had  stol'n  to  their  ear. 
And  they  loved  what  they  knew  of  so  humble  a  name ; 

And  they  told  him,  with  flattery  welcome  and  dear, 
That  they  found  in  hi  3  heart  something  better  than 
fame. 


878  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Nor  did  woman — oh  woman !  whose  form  and  whose  aoai 
Are  the  spell  and  the  light  of  each  path  we  pursue ; 

Wh^er  sunn'd  in  the  tropics  or  chill'd  at  the  pole, 
If  woman  be  there,  there  is  happiness  too :  — 

Nor  did  she  her  enamoring  raag'j  deny,  — 

That  magic  his  heart  had  relinquish'd  so  long,  — 

Like  eyes  he  had  loved  was  her  eloquent  eye, 
Like  them  did  it  soften  and  weep  at  his  song. 

Oh,  bless'd  be  the  tear,  and  in  memory  oft 
May  its  sparkle  be  shed  o'er  the  wanderer's  dream 

Thr'ce  bless'd  be  that  eye,  and  may  passion  as  soft, 
As  free  from  a  pang,  ever  mellow  its  beam ! 

The  stranger  is  gone  —  but  he  will  not  forget, 

When  at  home  he  shall  talk  of  the  toils  he  has  knowi^ 

To  tell,  with  a  sigh,  what  endearments  he  met. 
As  he  stray'd  by  the  wave  of  the  Schuylkill  alone 


A  CANADIAN   BOAT  SONG. 

F/LiNTLT  as  tolls  the  evening  chime 
Our  voices  keep  tune  and  our  oars  keep  time. 
Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim. 
We  '11  sing  at  St.  Ann's  our  parting  hymn. 
Row,  brothers,  row,  the  stream  runs  fast. 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight 's  past 


MlscEL^A^•^;(>L's    poems.  HTJJ 

Why  should  we  yet  our  sail  unfurl  ? 
There  is  not  a  breatiie  the  blue  wave  to  curl ; 
But,  when  the  wind  blows  off  the  shore, 
Oh  !  sweetly  we  'II  rest  our  weary  oar, 
Blow,  oreezes,  blow,  tlie  stream  runs  fast. 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight's  past 

Utawas'  tide!  the  trembling  moon 
Shall  see  us  float  over  thy  surges  soon. 
Saint  of  this  green  isle !  hear  our  prayers, 
Oh,  grant  us  cool  heavens  and  favor' ng  aii-s. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  tlie  stream  runj  fast. 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight 's  past 


TO  THE  FIRE-FLY. 

At  morning,  when  the  earth  and  sky 
Are  glowing  with  the  light  of  spring, 

We  see  tliee  not,  thou  humble  fly ! 
Nor  think  upon  thy  gleaming  wing. 

But  when  the  skies  have  lost  their  hue, 
And  sunny  lights  no  longer  play. 

Oh  then  we  see  and  bless  thee  too 
For  sparkling  o'er  the  dreary  way. 

Thus  let  my  hope,  when  lost  to  me 
The  lights  that  now  my  life  illume, 

Some  milder  joys  may  come,  like  thee, 
To  choer.  if  not  to  wnrm,  the  gloom ! 


380 


THE  STEERSMAN'S  SONG. 

When  freshly  blow?  thn  northern  gale, 

And  under  courses  snug  we  fly ; 
Or  when  lig-ht  breezes  swell  the  sail. 

And  royals  proudly  sweep  the  sky ; 
"Longside  the  wheel,  unwearied  still 

I  stand,  and,  as  my  watchful  eye 
Doth  mark  the  needle's  faithful  thrill, 

I  think  of  her  I  love,  and  cry, 

Port,  my  boy!  port 

When  calms  delay,  or  breezes  blow 

Right  from  the  point  we  wish  to  steer ; 
When  by  the  wind  close-haul'd  we  go, 

And  strive  in  vain  the  port  to  near; 
i  think  't  is  thus  the  fates  defer 

My  bliss  with  one  that 's  far  away, 
And  while  remembrance  springs  to  her, 

I  watch  the  sails  and  sighing  say, 

Thus,  my  boy  !  tbos 

But  see,  the  wind  draws  kindly  aft. 

All  hands  are  up  the  yards  to  square, 
And  now  the  floating  stu'n-sails  waft 

Our  stately  ship  through  waves  and  air. 
Oh !  then  1  think  tliat  yet  for  me 

Some  breeze  of  fortune  thus  may  spring. 
Some  breeze  to  waft  me,  love,  to  thee  - 

And  in  that  hope  I  smiling  sing. 

Steady,  boy !  so 


ti8! 


W  RITTEN  ON  PASSING  DEA OMAN'S  \SLAND 

See  you,  beneatli  yon  cloud  so  dark, 

Fast  gliding  along  a  gloomy  bark  ? 

Her  sails  are  full,  —  though  the  wind  is  still, 

And  there  blows  not  a  breath  her  sails  to  fill ! 

Say  what  doth  that  vessel  of  darkness  bear  ' 
The  silent  calm  of  the  grave  is  there. 
Save  now  and  again  a  death-knell  rung, 
And-the  flap  of  the  sails  with  night-fog  hung. 

There  lieth  a  wreck  on  the  dismal  shore 
Of  cold  and  pitiless  Labrador ; 
Where,  under  the  moon,  upon  mounts  of  ftost, 
Full  many  a  mariner's  bones  are  toss'd. 

Yon  shadowy  bark  hath  been  to  that  wreck. 
And  the  dim  blue  fire,  that  lights  her  deck, 
Dotii  play  on  as  pale  and  livid  a  crew 
As  ever  yet  drank  the  churchyard  dew. 

To  Deadman's  Isle,  in  the  eye  of  the  blast. 
To  Deadman's  Isle,  she  speeds  her  fast; 
By  skeleton  siiapes  her  sails  are  furl'd. 
And  tlie  hand  that  steers  is  not  of  this  world 

Oh  !  hurry  thee  on  —  oh  !  hurry  thee  on, 
Thou  terrible  bark,  ere  the  night  be  gone, 
Nor  let  morning  look  on  so  foul  a  sight 
As  would  blanch  for  ever  her  rosy  light ! 


3  2 


THE  TORCH   OF  LIBERTY 

I  SAW  it  all  in  Fancy's  glass  — 
Herself,  the  fair,  the  wild  magician, 

Who  bids  this  splendid  day-dream  pass, 
And  named  each  gliding  apparition. 

'T  was  like  a  torch-race  —  such  as  they 
Of  Greece  perform'd,  in  ages  gone. 

When  the  fleet  youths,  in  long  array, 
Pass'd  the  bright  torch  triumphant  on. 

!  saw  th'  expectant  nations  stand, 

To  catch  the  coming  flame  in  turn ;  — 

I  saw,  from  ready  hand  to  hand. 
The  clear,  though  struggling,  glory  bura 

And,  oh,  their  joy,  as  it  came  near, 
"T  was,  in  itself,  a  joy  to  see ;  — 

While  Fancy  whispcr'd  in  my  ear, 
"  That  torch  they  pass  is  Liberty  !  " 

And  each,  as  she  received  the  flame, 
Lighted  her  altar  with  its  ray  ; 

Then,  smiling,  to  the  next  who  came, 
Speeded  it  on  its  sparkling  way. 

From  Albion  first,  whose  ancient  shrine 
Was  furnish'd  with  tlie  fire  already, 

Columbia  caught  the  boon  divine, 
"And  lit  a  flame,  like  Albion's,  steaif 


misi;k.i.i,aim;(»iis    i'okms.  i03 

The  splendid  jrift  tlieii  (Iiillia  look, 
And,  like  a  wild  Bacclianto,  raising 

The  brand  aloft,  its  sparkles  shook, 
As  she  would  set  the  world  a-blazing  ' 

Tlius  kindling  wild,  so  fierce  and  high 

Her  altar  blazed  into  the  air, 
That  Albion,  to  tliat  fire  too  nigh, 

Shrunk  back,  and  shudder'd  at  its  glare .' 

Next,  Spain,  so  new  was  light  to  her, 
Leap'd  at  the  torch  —  but,  ere  the  spark 

That  fell  upon  her  shrine  could  stir, 

'T  was  quench'd  —  and  all  again  was  dark 

Yet,  no  —  not  quench'd  —  a  treasure,  worth 

So  much  to  mortals,  rarely  dies : 
Again  her  living  light  look'd  forth, 

And  shone,  a  beacon,  in  all  eyes. 

Who  next  received  the  flame  ?  alas, 
Unworthy  Naples  —  shame  of  shames, 

That  ever  through  such  hands  should  pass 
That  ^brightest  of  all  earthly  flames ! 

Scarce  had  her  fingers  touch'd  the  torch, 
When,  frighted  by  the  sparkc  it  shed. 

Nor  waiting  even  to  feel  the  scorch. 
She  dropp'd  it  to  the  earth  —  and  fled 

And  fall'n  it  might  have  long  remain'd : 
But  Greece,  who  saw  her  moment  now. 

Caught  up  the  prize,  though  prostrate,  stain'd, 
And  waved  it  round  her  beauteous  brow 


384  MISCELLANKOD       POEMS. 

And  Fancy  bade  me  mark  where,  o'er 
Her  altar,  as  its  flame  ascended, 

Fair,  laurell'd  spirits  seein'd  to  soar, 

Who  thus  in  song  their  voices  blended :  - 

"  Shine,  shine  for  ever,  glorious  Flame, 
Divinest  gift  of  Gods  to  men ! 

From  Greece  thy  earliest  splendor  came, 
To  Greece  thy  ray  returns  again. 

"  Take,  Freedom,  take  thy  radiant  round. 
When  dimni'd,  revive,  when  lost,  return, 

Till  not  a  shrine  through  earth  be  found. 
On  which  thy  glories  shall  not  burn ! " 


THIS  WORLD   IS  ALL  A  FLEETING  SHOW 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show, 

For  man's  illusion  given  ; 
The  smiles  of  Joy,  the  tears  of  Woe, 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow  — 

There  's  notliing  true,  but  Heaven ! 

And  false  the  light  on  Glory's  plume, 

As  fading  hues  of  Even  ; 
And  Love  and  Hope,  and  Beauty's  bloon^ 
Are  blossoms  gatlier'd  for  the  tomb  — 

There 's  nothing  bright,  but  Heaven . 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS  38i> 

Poor  wand'rers  of  a  stormy  day  ! 

From  wave  to  wave  we  're  driven. 
And  Fancy's  flash,  and  Reason's  ray, 
Serve  but  to  light  tlie  troubled  way  — 

There 's  nothing  cahn,  but  Heaven ! 


OH,  TEACH  ME  TO   LOVE  THEE. 

Oh,  teach  me  to  love  Thee,  to  feel  what  thou  art, 
Till,  fill'd  with  the  one  sacred  image,  my  heart 

Shall  all  other  passions  disown  ; 
Like  some  pure  temple,  tliat  shines  apart, 

Reserved  for  Thy  worship  alone. 

In  joy  and  in  sorrow,  through  praise  and  through  blame 
Thud  still  let  me,  living  and  dying  the  same, 

In  Thy  service  bloom  and  decay  — 
Like  some  lone  altar,  whose  votive  flame 

In  holiness  wasteth  away. 

f  hough  born  in  this  desert,  and  doom'd  by  my  birth 
To  pain  and  affliction,  to  darkness  and  dearth. 

On  Thee  let  my  spirit  rely  — 
Like  some  rude  dial,  that,  fix'd  on  earth. 

Still  looks  for  its  light  from  the  skv 
33 


386 


WEEP   NOT   FOR  THOSE. 

Wzt  T  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb, 

In  life's  happy  morning,  hath  hid  from  our  eyes, 
Ere  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloona. 

Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  born  for  the  skies. 
Death  chill'd  the  fair  fountain,  ere  sorrow  had  stain'd  it 

'T  was  frozen  in  all  the  pure  light  of  its  course, 
And  but  sleeps  till  the  sunshine  of  Heaven  has  un- 
chain'd  it. 

To  water  that  Eden  where  first  was  its  source. 
Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb, 

In  life's  happy  morning,  hath  hid  from  our  eyes. 
Ere  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloom. 

Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  born  for  the  skies. 

Mourn  not  for  her,  the  young  Bride  of  the  Vale, 

Our  gayest  and  loveliest,  lost  to  us  now, 
Ere  life's  early  lustre  had  time  to  grow  pale, 

And  the  garland  of  Love  was  yet  fresh  on  her  brow 
Oh,  then  was  her  moment,  dear  spirit  for  flying 

From    this    gloomy   world,   wliile    its    gloom   was 
unknown  — 
And  the  wild  hymns  she  warbled  so  sweetly,  in  dying 

Were  echoed  in  Heaven  by  lips  like  her  own. 
Weep  not  for  her  —  in  her  spring-time  she  flew 

To  that  land  where  the  wings  of  the  soul  are  unfurl'd 
And  now,  like  a  star  beyond  evening's  cold  dew, 

Lx»ks  radiantly  down  on  the  tears  of  this  world. 


387 


A   BALLAD. 

TH8  LAEJB  OF  THE  DISMAL  SWAMP. 

"  Thet  made  her  a  grave,  too  cold  and  damp 

For  a  soul  80  warm  and  true  ; 
And  she  's  gone  to  the  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamjik 
Where,  all  night  long,  by  a  fire-fly  lamp 

She  paddles  her  white  canoe. 


"  And  her  fire-fly  lamp  I  soon  bhall  see, 

And  her  paddle  I  soon  shall  hear ; 
Long  and  loving  our  life  shall  be. 
And  I  '11  hide  the  maid  in  a  cypress  tree. 
When  the  footstep  of  death  is  near." 


Away  to  the  Dismal  Swamp  he  speeds  — 

His  path  was  rugged  and  sore, 
Through  tangled  juniper,  beds  of  reeds, 
Through  many  a  fen,  where  the  serpent  feeos 

And  man  never  trod  before. 


And,  when  on  earth  he  sunk  to  sleep. 

If  slumber  his  eyelids  knew. 
He  lay,  where  the  deadly  vine  doth  weep 
Its  venomous  tear,  and  nightly  steep 
The  flesh  with  blisterinof  dew  ! 


g88  »n9CKM,A"'Ff>»I3    POEMS 

And  near  him  tlie  she-wolf  stirr'd  the  brake. 
And  the  copper-snake  breathed  in  his  ear. 

Till  he  starting  cried,  from  his  dream  awake. 

"  Oh !  when  shall  I  see  the  dusky  Lake, 
And  the  white  canoe  of  my  dear  ?  " 

He  saw  the  Lake,  and  a  meteor  bright 

Quick  over  its  surface  play'd  — 
"  Welcome,"  he  said,  "  my  dear  one's  light !  * 
And  the  dim  shore  echoed,  for  many  a  night, 
The  name  of  the  death-cold  maid. 

Till  he  hoUow'd  a  boat  of  the  birchen  bark, 

Which  carried  him  off  from  shore  ; 
Far,  far  he  follow'd  the  meteor  spark, 
The  wind  was  high  and  the  clouds  were  ('ark, 
And  the  boat  retum'd  no  more. 

But  oft,  from  tlie  Indian  hunter's  camp, 

This  lover  and  maid  so  true 
Are  seen  at  tlie  hour  of  midnight  damp 
To  cross  the  Lake  by  a  fire-fly  lamp. 

And  paddle  their  white  canoe ' 


381) 


SONG   OF  THE  EVIL  SPIRIT    31    THE 
WOODS. 

-  Now  the  vapor,  hot  and  damp, 
Shed  by  day's  expiring  lamp. 
Through  the  misty  ether  spreads 
Every  ill  the  white  man  dreada ; 
Fiery  fever's  thirsty  thrill, 
Fitful  ague's  shivering  chill ! 

Hark !  I  hear  the  traveller's  song, 
As  he  winds  tlie  woods  along  ;  — 
Christian,  't  is  the  song  of  fear  ; 
Wolves  are  round  thee,  night  is  near, 
And  the  wild  thou  dar'st  to  roam  — 
Think,  'twas  once  the  Indian's  home ' 

Hither,  sprites,  who  love  to  harm, 
Wheresoe'er  you  work  your  charm, 
By  the  creeks,  or  by  the  brakes, 
Where  the  pale  witch  feeds  her  snakes, 
And  the  cayman  loves  to  creep. 
Torpid,  to  his  wintry  sleep : 
Where  the  bird  of  carrion  flits, 
And  the  shudd'ring  murderer  sits, 
Lone  beneath  a  roof  of  blood  ; 
While  upon  his  poison'd  food. 
From  tlie  corpse  of  him  he  alev^ 
Drops  the  chil   and  gory  dew, 

33» 


890  MISCELLANEOOS    POEMS. 

Hither  bend  ye,  turn  ye  hither, 
Eyes  that  blast  and  wings  that  wither! 
Cross  the  wand'ring  Christian's  way, 
Lead  him,  ere  the  glimpse  of  day, 
Many  a  mile  of  madd'ning  error. 
Through  the  maze  of  night  and  terror. 
Till  the  morn  behold  him  lying 
On  the  damp  earth,  pale  and  dying. 
Mock  him,  when  his  eager  sight 
Seeks  the  cordial  cottage-light ; 
Gleam  then,  like  the  lightning-bug 
Tempt  him  to  the  den  that 's  dug 
For  the  foul  and  famish'd  brood 
Of  the  she-wolf,  gaunt  for  blood ; 
Or,  unto  the  dangerous  pass 
O'er  the  deep  and  dark  morass. 
Where  the  trembling  Indian  brings 
Belts  of  porcelain,  pipes,  and  rings, 
Tributes,  to  be  hung  in  air. 
To  the  Fiend  presiding  there ! 

Then,  when  night's  long  labor 'paat, 
Wilder'd,  faint,  he  falls  at  last, 
Sinking  where  the  causeway's  edge 
Moulders  in  the  slimy  sedge, 
'"'lere  let  every  noxious  thing 
Trail  its  filth  and  fix  its  sting ; 
Let  the  bull-toad  taint  him  over,  * 
Round  him  let  moschetoes  hover, 
In  his  ears  and  eyeballs  tingle. 
With  his  blood  their  poison  mingle, 
Till,  beneath  the  solar  fires. 
Rankling  all,  the  wretch  e?  pires ' 


;{:^i 


MNES 

WRITIKN    AT   TH3    COHOS,    OK   FALLS    OP   THE   MOn(>WK 
KIVER. 

From  rise  of  morn  till  set  of  sun 
I  've  seen  the  uiighty  Moliawk  run ; 
And  eis  1  niaik'd  the  woods  of  pine 
Along  his  mirror  darkly  shine, 
Like  tall  and  gloomy  forms  that  pass 
Before  the  wizard's  midjiight  glass ; 
And  as  I  view'd  the  hurrying  pace 
With  which  lie  ran  liis  turbid  race, 
Rushing,  alike  untired  and  wild, 
Through  siiades  that  frown'd  and  flowem 

that   smiled, 
Flying  by  every  green  recess 
That  woo'd  him  to  its  calm  caress, 
Yet,  sometimes  turning  with  the  wind, 
As  if  to  leave  one  look  behind,  — 
Oft  have  I  thought,  and  thinking  sigh'd 
How  like  to  thee,  thou  restless  tide. 
May  be  the  lot,  the  life  of  him 
Who  roai.is  along  thy  water's  brim  ; 
Through  what  alternate  wastes  of  wo* 
And  flowers  of  joy  my  path  may  go; 
How  many  a  sheltered,  calm  retreat 
May  woo  the  while  my  weary  feet, 
Whilje  still  pursuing,  still  unbless'd, 
I  wander  on,  nor  dare  to  rest; : 


192  MISUELLAJNEOUS    POEM3. 

But,  urgent  as  the  doom  that  calls 
Thy  water  to  its  destined  falls, 
I  feel  the  world's  bewild'ring  force 
Hurry  my  heart's  devoted  course 
From  lapse  to  lapse,  t;Il  life  be  don©;, 
And  the  spent  current  cease  to  run. 
One  only  prayer  I  dare  to  make, 
As  ofnward  thus  my  course  I  take ;  — 
Oh,  be  my  falls  as  bright  as  thine ! 
May  heaven's  relenting  rainbow  shii-c 
Upon  the  mist  that  circus  me, 
^8  sott  as  now  it  hanofs  o'er  thee ! 


THE  TURF  SHALL  BE  MY  FRAGRANT 
SHRINE. 

The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine  ; 
My  temple,  Lord !  that  Arch  of  thine  , 
My  censer's  breath  the  mountain  airs, 
And  silent  thoughts  my  only  prayers. 

My  choir  shall  be  the  moonlight  waves, 
When  rnurm'ring  homeward  to  their  caves, 
Or  when  tlie  stillness  of  the  sea. 
E'en  more  than  music,  breathes  of  Thee. 

I  'II  seek,  by  day,  some  glade  unknown. 
All  light  and  silence,  like  thy  Throne ; 
And  the  pale  stars  shall  be,  at  night, 
The  only  eyes  that  watch  my  rite. 


MISCKL^A^^.^»IJ'fi    i'oeiws.  J^ 

Tny  Heavfiii,  on  which  't  is  bliss  to  look, 
Shall  bo  my  pure  and  shining  book, 
Where  I  shall  roafl,  in  words  of  flame. 
The  glories  of  thy  wondrous  name. 

I  '11  road  tliy  anger  in  the  rack 

That  clouds  awhile  the  day-beam's  track 

Thy  mercy  in  the  azure  hue 

Of  sunny  briglitness,  breaking  through. 

There 's  nothing  bright,  above,  below, 
From  flowers  that  bloom  to  stars  that  gl(  w 
But  in  its  light  my  soul  can  see 
Some  feature  of  thy  Deity. 

There  's  nothmg  dark,  below,  above 
But  in  its  gloom  I  trace  thy  Love,  . 
And  meekly  wait  that  moment,  when 
Thy  touch  shall  turn  all  bright  again  ' 


YOUTH   AND   AGE. 

"  Tkll  me,  what 's  Love  ?  "  said  Youth,  one  day 
To  drooping  Age,  who  cross'd  his  way. -- 
''  It  is  a  sunny  hour  of  play, 
For  which  repentance  dear  doth  pay  ; 

Repentance !  Repentance ! 
And  this  is  Love,  as  wise  men  say." 


S594  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

*'  TeA  ijie,  what 's  Love  ?  "  said  Youth  once  inoru, 
Fearful,  yet  fond,  of  Age's  lore.  — 
"  Soft  as  a  passing  summer's  wind  : 
Wouldst  know  the  blight  it  leaves  behind  ? 

Repentance !  Repentance ' 
And  this  is  Love  —  when  Love  is  o'er.'' 

"  Tell  me,  what 's  Love  ?  "  said  Youth  again, 
Trusting  the  bliss,  but  not  the  pain. 
•*  Sweet  as  a  May  tree's  scented  air  — 
Mark  ye  what  bitter  fruit 't  wiil  bear. 

Repentance !  Repentance ! 
This,  this  is  Love  —  sweet  Youth,  beware." 

Just  then,  yoimg  Love  himself  came  ly, 
And  cast  on  Youth  a  smiling  eye  ; 
Who  could  resist  that  glance's  ray  ? 
In  vain  did  Age  his  warning  say, 

"  Repentance !  Repentance !  '* 
Youth  Ipughing  went  with  Love  awaw. 


THE  DYING    WARRIOR. 

A  WOUNDED  Chieftain,  lying 
By  the  Danube's  leafy  side. 

Thus  faintly  said,  in  dying, 
"  Oh  !  bear,  thou  fuaniinjj  iidt',. 

This  gift  to  my  lady-biidi! 


MISCKI.I.ANKOUS     P(»KMS.  395 

T  was  t  len,  in  life's  last  quivei, 

He  flung  the  srar:  ae  wore 
Into  tl'.e  foaming  river, 

Wlucli,  ah  too  quickly,  bore 

That  pledge  of  one  no  more ' 

With  fond  impatience  burning 

The  Chieftain's  lady  stood, 
To  watch  her  love  returning 

In  triumph  down  the  flood, 

From  that  day's  field  of  blood. 

But,  field,  alas,  ill-fated  ' 

The  lady  saw,  instead 
Of  the  bark  whose  speed  8he  waited, 

Her  hero's  scarf,  all  red 

With  tlie  (Jrops  hid  lieart  liad  shed- 
One  shriek  —  and  all  was  over  —  ^ 

Her  life-pulse  ceased  to  beat  ; 
rhe  gloomy  waves  now  cover 

That  bridal-flower  so  sweet. 

And  the  scarf  is  her  wmaiiuj-ehoea ! 


396 


MERRILY  EVERY  BOSOM  BOUNDETH. 

THE   TYROLESi!   90Vf}    OP   LIBERTY. 

Merrilt  every  bosom  boundeth, 

Merrily,  oh ! 
Where  the  song  of  Freedom  sounaetbk 
Merrily,  oh ! 
There  the  warrior's  arms 

Shed  more  splendor ; 
There  the  maiden's  charms 
Shine  more  tender ; 
Ev'ry  joy  the  land  surroundeth, 
Merrily,  oh .  merrily,  oh ! 

Wearily  every  bosom  pineth, 

Wearily,  oh ! 
Where  the  bond  of  slavery  twinetii, 
Wearily,  oh ! 
There  the  warrior's  dart 

Hath  no  fleetness ; 
There  the  maiden's  heart 
Hath  no  sweetness  — 
Ev'ry  flow'r  of  life  declinetn, 
Wearily,  oh !  wearily,  oh ! 

Cheerily  then  from  hill  and  valley, 

Cheerily,  oh ! 
Like  your  native  fountains  sally 

Cheerily,  oh ' 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  397 

If  a  glorious  deatlu 

Won  by  bravery. 
Sweeter  be  than  oreain 

Sigh'd  in  slavery 
Round  the  flag  of  Freedom  ni<v/, 
Cheerily,  oh!  cheenlv  oh 


THR  MAGIC   MIRROR. 

"Come,  if  tliy  magic  Glass  have  pow'r 

To  call  up  forms  we  wish  to  see ; 
Show  me  my  Love,  in  that  rosy  bow'r, 

Where  last  she  pledged  her  truth  to  me." 

The  Wizard  show'd  him  his  Lady  bright. 

Where  lone  and  pale  in  her  bow'r  she  lay  ; 
"  True-hearted  maid,"  said  tlie  happy  Knight, 

"  She 's  thinking  of  one,  who  is  far  awav  " 

But,  lo !  a  page,  with  looks  of  joy, 

Brings  tidings  to  tlie  Lady's  ear ; 
"  T  is,"  said  the  Knight,  "  the  same  bright  boy, 

Who  used  to  guide  me  to  my  dear " 

The  Lady  now,  from  her  fav'rite  tree, 
Hath,  smiling,  pluck'd  a  rosy  flow'r ; 

*•  Such,"  he  exclaim'd,  "  was  the  gift  that  she 
Each  morning  sent  nie  from  that  tiow'r '  " 


8  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMC 

She  gives  her  page  the  blooming  rose, 
Witli  looks  that  say,  "  Like  lightning,  fly ! " 

"  Thus,"  thought  the  Knight,  "  she  sooths  her  woes 
By  fancying,  still,  her  true-love  nigh." 

But  the  page  returns,  and  —  oh,  what  a  sight, 

For  trusting  lover's  eyes  to  see !  — 
Leads  to  that  bo-w'r  another  Knight, 
As  young  and,  alas,  as  loved  as  he  ! 

"•Such,"  quoth  the  Youth,  "  is  Woman's  love '  * 
Then,  darting  forth,  with  furious  bound, 

Dash'd  at  the  Mirror  his  iron  glove, 
And  strew'd  it  all  m  fragments  round. 


Such  ills  would  never  nave  come  to  pass. 

Had  he  ne'er  sought  that  fatal  view  ; 
The  Wizard  would  still  have  kept  his  GlasM, 

And  Uie  Knight  still  tliought  his  Lady  tme. 


THE  FANCY  FAIR. 

Come,  maids  and  youths,  for  here  we  sell 
All  wondrous  things  of  earth  and  air; 

Whatever  wild  romancers  tell, 
Or  poets  sing,  or  lovers  swear, 
You  '11  find  at  this  our  Fancy  Fair 


MJSCELLANEOUSi        OF.M9  399 

Here  eyes  are  made  like  stars  to  shine, 
And  kept,  for  years,  in  such  repair, 

That  ev'n  when  turn'd  of  thirty-nine, 
They  '11  hardly  look  the  worse  for  wear, 
If  bought  at  tliis  our  Fancy  Fair. 

We  've  lots  of  tears  for  bards  to  show'r. 
And  hearts  that  such  ill  usage  bear, 

That,  though  they  're  broken  ev'ry  hour. 
They  '11  still  in  rhyme  fresh  breaking  bear 
If  purchased  at  our  Fancy  Fair. 

As  fashions  change  in  ev'ry  thing. 
We  've  goods  to  suit  each  season's  air, 

Eternal  friendships  for  the  spr'iig. 

And  endless  loves  for  summer  wear,  — 
All  sold  at  this  our  Fancy  Fair. 

We  ve  reputations  white  as  snow, 
That  long  will  last,  if  uged  with  care, 

Nay,  safe  through  all  life's  journey  go, 
If  pack'd  and  mark'd  as  "  brittle  ware,"  — 
Just  purchased  at  the  Fancy  Fair 


400 


HER  LAST   WORDS,  AT  PARTING. 

f ItR  last  words,  at  parting,  how  can  T  forget  ? 

Deep  treasured  through  life,  in  my  heart  they  ehaJ. 
stay 
Like  music,  whose  charm  in  the  soul  lingers  yet, 
When  its  sounds  from  the  ear  have   long  melted 
away. 
Let  Fortune  assail  mo,  her  threat'nings  are  vain  ; 

Those  still-breafJiing  words  shall  my  talisman  be, — 
"  Remember,  in  a'^sence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain. 
There  's  one  heart,  unchanging,  that  beats  but  for 
thee." 

Prom  tlie  desert's  sweet  well  tho'  the  pilgrim  must  hie, 
Never  more  of  that  fresh-springing  fountain  to  taste, 

He  hath  still  of  its  bright  drops  a  treasured  supply. 
Whose  sweetness  lends  life  to  his  lips  through  the 
waste. 

So,  dark  as  my  fate  is  stili  doom  d  to  remain, 

These  words  shall  mv  well  in  the  wilderness  be,  — 
Remember,  in  absence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain, 
There 's  one  heart,  unchangfmg   that  beate  but  fo? 


BALliAD  STANZAS. 

1  KjNew  by  the  smoke,  »hat  so  gracefully  curl'd 
Above  the  green  elms,  that  a  cottage  was  near, 

And  I  said,  "If  there's  peace  to  be  found  in  the  world, 
A  heart  that  was  bumble  might  hope  for  it  here  !  " 

It  was  noon,  and  on  flowers  that  languish'd  around 

In  silence  reposed  the  voluptuous  bee  ; 
Ever)-  leaf  was  at  rest,  and  I  heard  not  a  sound 

But  the  woodpecker  tapping  the  hollow  beach-tree. 

And,  "  flere  in  this  lone  little  wood,"  I  exclaira'd, 
"  With  a  maid  who  was  lovely  to  soul  and  to  eye, 

Who  would  blush  when  I  praised  her,  and  weep  if  I 
blamed. 
How  blest  could  I  live,  and  how  calm  could  I  die ! 

■■*  By  the  shade  of  yon  sumach,  whose  red  berry  dips 
In  the  gush  of  the  fountain,  how  sweet  to  recline, 

\nd  to  know  that  I  sigh'd  upon  innocent  li))8, 
Wluch  had  never  been  sigh'd  on  by  any  but  ramu  * 

34* 


402 


SALE  OF  CUPID. 

Who  'll  buy  a  little  hoy  ?  Look,  yonder  is  he, 

Fast  asleep,  sly  rogue,  on  his  mother's  knee  ; 

So  bold  a  young  imp  't  is  n't  safe  to  keep. 

So  I  11  part  with  him  now,  while  he 's  sound  asleep 

See  his  arch  little  nose,  how  sharp  't  is  curl'd, 

His  wings,  too,  ev'n  in  sleep  unfurl'd ; 

And  those  tingers,  which  still  ever  ready  are  found 

For  mirth  or  for  mischief,  to  tickle,  or  wound. 

He  '11  try  with  his  tears  your  heart  to  beguile, 
But  never  you  mind  —  he  's  laughing  all  the  while  , 
For  little  he  cares,  so  he  has  his  own  whim, 
And  weeping  or  laughing  are  all  one  to  him. 
His  eye  is  as  keen  as  tiie  lightning's  flash, 
His  tongue  like  the  red  bolt  quick  and  rash ; 
And  so  savage  is  he,  that  his  own  dear  mother 
Is  scarce  more  safe  in  his  hands  tlian  another. 


(n  short,  to  sum  up  this  darling's  praise. 
He 's  a  downright  pest  in  all  sorts  of  ways  • 
And  if  any  one  wants  such  an  imp  to  employ, 
He  shall  have  a  dead  bargain  of  this  little  boy. 
Bu ;  see,  the  boy  wakes  —  his  bright  tears  flow  — 
His  eyes  seem  to  ask  could  I  sell  him  ?  oh  no, 
Sweet  child,  no,  no  —  though  so  naughty  you  be, 
You  shall  live  evermore  with  my  Lesbia  and  me 


COME,  YE  DISC(»NSOLATE. 

Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  you  languish, 

Come,  at  God's  altar  fervently  kneel ; 
Here  bring  your  wounded  hearts,  here  tell  youi  wi 
guish  — 

Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heal 

Joy  of  the  desolate,  Light  of  the  straying, 
Hope,  when  all  others  die,  fadeless  and  pure, 

Here  speaks  the  Comforter,  in  God's  name  saying  — 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  cure." 

Go,  ask  the  infidel,  what  boon  he  brings  us, 
What  charm  for  aching  hearts  ke  can  reveal, 

Bweet  as  that  heavenly  promise  Hope  sings  ua  — 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  God  cannot  heaL" 


HE  MEETING   OF   THE   SHIPS. 

When  o'er  the  silent  seas  alone. 
For  days  and  nights  we  've  cheerless  gone, 
Oh  they  who  've  felt  it  know  how  sweet, 
Some  sunny  mom  a  sail  to  meet 


i04  MISCELLANEODS    POEMS. 

Sparkling  at  once  is  ev'ry  eye, 

*'  Ship  ahoy  !  ship  ahoy  !  "  our  joyful  cry , 

While  answering  back  the  sounds  we  hear 

"Ship  ahoy!  ship  ahoy!  v^hat  cheer?  what  cheer?' 

Then  sails  are  back'd,  we  nearer  come, 
Kind  words  are  said  of  friends  and  home ; 
And  soon,  too  soon,  we  part  with  pain, 
Tti  sail  o'er  silent  seas  ajjain. 


THE   EXILE. 


Night  waneth  fast,  the  morning  star 

Saddens  with  light  tlie  glimm'ring  sea, 
Whose  waves  shall  soon  to  realms  afar 

Waft  me  from  hope,  from  love,  and  thee. 
Coldly  the  beam  from  yonder  sky 

Looks  o'er  the  waves  that  onward  stray  • 
But  colder  still  the  stranger's  eye. 

To  him  whose  home  is  far  away 

( )h,  not  at  hour  so  chill  ajid  bleak, 

Let  thoughts  of  ine  come  o'er  thy  breast 
But  of  the  lost  one  think  and  speak, 

When  summer  suns  sink  calm  to  rest 
So,  as  I  wander,  Fancy's  dream 

Shall  bring  me  o'er  the  sunset  seas, 
f  hy  look,  in  ev'ry  melting  beam. 

Thy  whisper,  in  each  dying  breeze. 


AS  DOWN  TN  THE  SUNLESS  RETREATS 

As  down  in  thfe  sunless  retreats  of  the  Ocean, 

Sweet  flowers  are  springing  no  mortal  can  see. 
So,  deep  in  my  soul  the  still  prayer  of  devotion, 
Unheard  by  tlie  world,  rises  silent  to  Thee, 
My  God  !  silent,  to  Thee, 
Pure,  warm,  silent,  to  Thee. 

As  still  to  the  star  of  its  worship,  though  clouded, 

The  needle  points  faithfully  o'er  the  dim  sea. 

So,  dark  as  I  roam,  in  this  wintry  world  shrouded, 

The  hope  of  my  spirit  turns  tre^nbling  to  Thee, 

My  God !  trembling,  to  Thee  — 

True,  fond,  treinbhng,  to  Thee 


ROSE   OF  THE   DESERT. 

Rose  of  the  Desert !  thou,  whose  blushmg  raj 
Lonely  and  lovely,  fleets  unseen  away  : 
No  hand  to  cull  thee,  none  to  woo  thy  sign,  — 
In  vestal  silence  left  to  live  and  die,  — 
Rose  of  the  r)esert!  thus  should  woman  be, 
Shining  uiicourted,  lone  and  safe,  like  thee. 


406  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Rose  of  the  Garden,  how  unlike  ihy  dooia 
Destined  for  others,  not  thyself,  to  bloom , 
Cull'd  ere  thy  beauty  lives  through  half  its  day  ; 
A  moment  cherish'd,  and  then  cast  away ; 
Rose  of  the  Garden  !  such  is  womun'tj  lot,  -  - 
Worsliipp'd,  while  blooming  —  when  she  fades,  forgot 


SOUND    THE  LODD   TIMBREL. 

ho\mt)  the  loud  Tiaibrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea ! 
Jehovah  has  triumph'd  —  his  people  are  free. 
Sing  —  for  the  pride  of  the  Tyrant  is  broken, 

His  chariots,  his  horsemen,  all  splendid  and  brave  — 
How  vain  was  their  boast,  for  the  Lord  hath  but  spoken 

And  chariots  and  horsemen  are  sunk  in  the  wave 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea ; 
Jehovah  has  triumph'd  —  his  people  are  free. 

Praise  to  the  Conqueror,  praise  to  the  Lord ! 

His  word  was  our  arrow,  his  breath  was  our  sword.  — 

Who  shall  retnrn  to  tell  Egypt  the  story 

Of  those  she  sent  forth  in  the  hour  of  her  pridff"? 
For  the  Lord  hath  look'd  out  from  his  pillar  of  glory 

And  all  her  brave  thousands  are  dash'd  in  the  tide 
Sound  the  loud  Tmibrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea ; 
Jehovah  his  triumph'd —  his  people  are  free' 


-J 


407 


LONG    YEARS   HAVE  PASS'!). 

Long  years  have  pass'd,  old  friend,  since  we 

First  met  in  life's  young  day ; 
And  friends  long  loved  by  thee  and  me, 

Since  then  have  dropp'd  away ;  — 
But  enough  remain  to  cheer  us  on, 

And  sweeten,  when  thus  we  're  met, 
The  glass  we  fill  to  the  many  gone. 

And  the  few  who  're  left  us  yet 

Our  locks,  old  friend,  now  thinly  grow. 

And  some  hang  white  and  chill ; 
While  some,  like  flow'rs  'mid  Autumn's  snow 

Retain  youth's  color  still. 
And  so,  in  our  hearts,  though  one  by  one, 

Ycuth's  sunny  hopes  have  set. 
Thank  heav'n,  not  all  their  light  is  gone,  — 

We  've  some  to  cheer  us  yet 

Then  here 's  to  thee,  old  friend,  and  long 

May  thou  and  I  thus  meet. 
To  brighten  still  with  wine  and  song 

This  short  life,  ere  it  fleet. 
And  still  as  death  comes  stealing  ou, 

Let 's  never,  old  friend,  forget, 
Ev'n  while  we  sigh  o'er  blessings  gone, 

How  many  are  left  vlh  yet 


408 


TEIJ^  HER,  OH,  TEU.  HER. 

TsLii  her,  oh,  tell  her,  tiie  lute  she  left  lying- 
Beneath  the  green  arbor,  is  still  lying  there ; 

And  breezes,  like  lovers,  around  it  are  sighing 
But  not  a  soft  whisper  replies  to  their  pray'r. 

Tell  her,  oh,  tell  her,  the  tree  that,  m  going, 
Beside  the  green  arbor  she  playfully  set, 

As  lovely  as  ever  is  blushing  and  blowing, 
And  not  a  bright  leaflet  has  fall'n  from  it  yet 

So  while  away  from  that  arbor  forsaken. 
The  maiden  is  wandering,  still  let  her  be 

As  true  as  the  lute,  that  no  sighing  can  waken, 
And  blooming  for  ever,  unchanged  as  the  tre»» 


OH    CALL  IT  BY  SOME  BETTER  NAM£ 

Oh,  call  it  by  some  better  name, 
For  Friendship  sounds  too  cold, 

While  Love  is  now  a  worldly  fiani<. 
Whose  shrine  must  be  of  gold  • 


»nscELLA:TK;)i;s  poems.  403 

And  Passion,  like  the  sun  at  noon, 

That  burns  o'er  all  he  sees, 

Awhile  as  warm,  will  set  as  soon 

Then,  call  it  none  of  these 

Imagine  something  purer  far, 

More  free  from  stain  of  clay 
Than  Friendship,  Love,  or  Passion  are, 

Yet  human  still  as  they ; 
And  if  thy  lip,  for  love  like  this, 

No  mortal  word  can  frame. 
Go,  ask  of  angels  what  it  is, 

And  call  it  by  that  name ' 


FANCY. 


The  more  I  've  view'd  this  world,  the  more  I  've  foun4 

That,  fill'd  as  'tis  with  scenes  and  creatures  rare, 
Fancy  commands,  within  her  own  bright  round, 

A  world  of  scenes  and  creatures  far  more  fair 
Nor  is  it  that  her  power  can  call  up  there 

A  single  ch  arm,  that 's  not  from  nature  won,  — 
PJo  more  than  rainbows,  in  their  pride,  can  wear 

A  single  tint  unborrow'd  from  the  sun ; 
But 't  is  the  mental  medium  it  shines  through, 
That  lends  to  Beauty  all  its  charms  and  hue ; 
As  the  same  light,  that  o'er  the  level  lake 

One  dull  monotony  of  lustre  flings. 

Will,  entering  in  the  rounded  rain-drop,  make 

Colors  as  gay  as  those  on  anffel*'  wings ' 
35 


110 


TO  THE  FLY::TG  FISH. 

When  I  have  seen  tl.j-  sno-rt^-white  wia^ 
From  the  blue  wave  ai,  evening'  spring, 
And  show  those  scales  of  silvery  white, 
So  gayly  to  the  eye  of  light, 
As  if  thy  frame  were  form'd  to  "ise, 
And  live  amid  the  glorious  ski'^s  ; 
Oh !  it  has  made  me  proudly  feel, 
How  like  thy  wing's  impatient  zeal 
Is  the  pure  soul,  that  rests  not,  pent 
Within  this  world's  gross  element, 
But  takes  the  wing  that  God  has  given, 
And  rises  into  xigi.it  and  neaven  ! 

But,  when  I  r-oe  tni  t  wing,  so  bright, 
Grow  lango  lu  «riTii  a  moment's  flight, 
Attempt  the  paths  of  air  in  vain. 
And  sink  into  the  waves  again ; 
Alas !  the  flattering  pride  is  o'er ; 
Like  thee,  awhile,  the  soul  may  soar 
But  erring  man  must  blush  to  think, 
Like  thee,  again  the  soul  may  sink. 

Oh  Virtue !  when  tliy  clime  I  seek. 
Let  not  my  spirit's  flight  be  weak : 
Let  me  not,  like  this  feeble  thing, 
With  brine  still  dropping  from  its  v/iag 
Just  sparkle  in  the  solar  glow 
Aud  plunge^again  to  depths  be]»w^ : 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  411 

But,  when  I  leave  the  grosser  throng 
With  whom  my  soul  hath  dwelt  so  long, 
Let  me,  in  tliat  aspiring  day, 
Cast  every  lingering  stain  away, 
And,  panting  for  thy  purer  air. 
Fly  up  at  once  and  fix  me  there. 


THE  DAY-DREAM 

TflEf  both  were  hush'd,  the  voice,  the  chordis  — 
I  heard  but  once  that  witching  lay ; 

And  few  the  notes,  and  few  the  words. 
My  spell-bound  memory  brought  away ; 

Traces  remember'd  here  and  there, 
Like  echoes  of  some  broken  strain;  — 

Links  of  a  sweetness  lost  in  air, 
That  nothing  now  could  join  again. 

Ev'n  these,  too,  ere  the  morning,  fled ; 

And,  though  the  charm  still  linger'd  on, 
That  o'er  each  sense  her  song  had  shed, 

The  song  itself  was  faded,  gone ;  — 

Gone,  like  the  thoughts  that  once  were  ours. 
On  summer  days,  ere  youth  had  set ; 

Thoughts  bright,  we  know,  as  summer  flowers, 
Thought  what  they  were,  we  now  forget 


J12  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

la  vain,  witJi  hints  trmn  other  strains, 
I  woo'd  tJiis  triKint  air  to  come  — 

As  birds  aro  taught,  on  eastern  plains, 
To  lure  tiieir  wilder  kindred  home. 

In  vain  :  —  the  song  tliat  Sappho  gave 

In  dying,  to  the  mournful  sea, 
?Iot  muter  slept  beneatli  the  wave. 

Than  this  within  my  memory. 

At  length,  one  morning,  as  I  lay 

In  that  half-waking  mood,  when  dreams 

Unwillingly  at  last  give  way 

To  the  full  truth  of  daylight's  beams, 

A  face  —  tlie  very  face,  methought, 
•    From  which  had  breathed,  as  from  a  shriae 
Of  song  and  soul,  tlie  notes  I  sought  — 
Came  with  its  music  close  to  mine  ; 

And  sung  the  long-lost  measure  o'er,  — 
Each  note  and  word,  with  every  tone 

And  look,  that  lent  it  life  before,  — 
All  perfect,  all  again  my  own ! 

Like  parted  sonls,  when,  mid  the  Blest 
They  meet  again,  each  widow'd  sound 

Through  memory's  realm  had  wing'd  in  quest 
Of  its  sweet  mate,  till  all  were  found. 

Nor  ev3n  in  waking  did  the  clue. 

Thus  strangely  caught,  escape  again 
For  never  lark  its  matins  knew 

So  well  as  now  I  knew  this  strain. 


«lSCELLAR\OlJ3    POEMS.  4liJ 

And  oft,  when  merror  -'s  wondrous  sj«ll 

Is  talk'd  of  in  our  tranquil  bower, 
I  sing  this  lady's  song,  and  tell 

The  virion  of  that  morning  hour. 


BOAT  GLEE. 

The  Bong  that  hghtens  our  languid  way 
When  brows  are  glowing, 
And  faint  with  rowing. 
Is  like  the  spell  of  Hope's  airy  lay, 
To  whose  sound  through  life  we  stray.  ' 

The  beams  that  flash  on  the  oar  awhile, 

As  we  row  along  through  waves  so  clear. 
Illume  its  spray,  like  the  fleeting  smile 
That  shines  o'er  Sorrow's  tear. 

Nothmg  is  lost  on  him  who  sees 

With  an  eye  that  Feeling  gave; 
For  him  there  's  a  story  in  every  breeze, 

And  a  picture  in  every  wave. 
Then  sing  to  lighten  the  languid  way ;  — 
When  brows  are  glowing. 
And  faint  with  rowing ; 
T  is  like  the  spell  of  Hope's  airy  lay, 
To  whose  sound  through  life  we  stray 

35» 


SONG 

Where  is  ttie  noart  tnat  would  not  gir^ 

Years  of  drowsy  fiays  and  nights. 
One  little  hour,  like  this,  to  live  — 
Full,  to  the  brim,  of  life's  delights  ? 
Look,  look  around 
This  fairy  ground, 
With  love-lights  glittering  o'er ; 
While  cups  that  shine 
With  freight  divine 
Go  coasting  round  its  shore. 

Hope  is  the  dupe  of  future  hours, 
Memory  lives  in  those  gone  by  ; 
NciUier  can  see  the  moment's  flower* 
Springing  up  fresh  beneath  the  eye 

Wouldst  thou,  or  thou, 

Forego  what 's  now^ 
For  all  that  Hope  may  say  ? 

No  —  Joy's  reply, 

From  every  eye. 
Is,  ••  Live  we  while  we  niaT,* 


SONG. 

*  T 13  the  Vine !  't  is  the  Vine ! "  said  the  cup-lovmg  boy 

As  he  saw  it  spring  bright  from  tlie  earth, 
And  call'd  the  young  Genii  of  Wit,  Love,  and  Joy, 

To  witness  and  hallow  its  birtli. 
The  fruit  was  full-grown,  like  a  ruby  it  flamed, 

Till  the  sunbeam  that  kiss'd  it  look'd  pale : 
T  is  the  Vine !  't  is  the  Vine ! "  ev'ry  Spirit  exclairo'4 

"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail ' " 


First,  fleet  as  a  bird,  to  the  summons  Wit  flew 

While  a  light  on  the  vine-leaves  there  broke, 
In  flashes  so  quick  and  so  brilliant,  all  knew 

'T  was  the  light  from  his  lips  as  he  spoke. 
"  Bright  tree  !  let  thy  nectar  but  cheer  me,"  he  cried, 

"  And  the  fount  of  Wit  never  can  fail ; " 
"  T  is  the  Vine !  't  is  tlie  Vine ! "  hills  and  valleys  replj 

"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail ! " 


Next,  Love,  as  he  lean'd  o'er  the  plant  to  admire 

Each  tendril  and  cluster  it  wore, 
'*'rom  his  rosy  mouth  sent  such  a  breath  of  desire 

As  made  the  tree  tremble  all  o'er. 
Oh,  never  did  flow'r  of  the  earth,  sea,  or  sky, 

Sucli  a  soul-giving  odor  inhale  : 
•*  T  is  the  Vine !  't  is  the  Vine  I "  all  re-echo  thn  cry, 

•♦Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail?" 


COME,  PLAY  ME  THAT  SIMPLE  AIR  AGAIN 

A   BALLAD. 

Come,  play  me  that  simple  air  again, 

I  used  so  to  love,  in  life's  young  day 
And  bring,  if  thou  canst,  the  dreams  that  then 
Were  waken'd  by  that  sweet  lay. 
The  tender  gloom  its  strain 

Shed  o'er  the  heart  and  brow, 
Grief's  shadow,  without  its  pain  — 
Say  where,  where  is  it  now  ? 
But  play  me  the  well-known  air  once  more, 

For  thoughts  of  youth  still  haunt  its  strain, 
Like  dreams  of  some  far,  ftiiry  shore 
We  never  shall  see  again. 

Sweet  air,  how  every  note  brings  back 

Some  sunny  hope,  some  day-dream  bright, 
That,  shining  o'er  life's  early  track, 
Fill'd  ev'n  its  tears  with  light. 

The  new-found  life  that  came 

W'th  love's  first  echo'd  vow ,  — • 
The  fear,  the  bltss,  the  shame  - 
Ah  —  where,  where  are  they  now 
But,  still  the  same  loved  notes  prolong. 

For  sweet  i  were  thus,  to  that  old  lay, 
In  dreams  of  youth  and  love  and  song. 
To  breathe  life's  hour  away. 


BISCELLANEODS    POEMS.  41V 

Last,  Joy,  without  whom  even  Love  and  Wit  die. 

Came  to  crown  the  bright  hour  with  his  ray ; 
And  scarce  had  that  mirtli-v  aking  tree  met  his  eye, 
When  a  laugh  spoke  whai  Joy  could  not  say ;  — 
A  laugh  of  the  heart,  whi'>;h  was  echoed  around 
Till,  like  music,  it  swe]r<1  on  the  gale  ; 
T  is   the  Vine !  't  is  the  Vine ! "  laughing  mynadfi 

resound, 
"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail ! " 


SOVEREIGN  WOMAN 


The  dance  was  o'er,  yet  still  in  dreamt 

That  fairy  scene  went  on ; 
Like  clouds  still  flui^h'd  with  dayiigm  gleaow, 

Though  day  itseji  is  tsuue. 
And  gracefully  to  music's  sound. 
The  same  bright  nymphs  went  gliding  round , 
While  thou,  the  Queen  of  all,  wert  there  — 
The  Fairest  still,  where  all  were  fair. 

The  dream  then  changed  —  in  halls  of  state, 

I  saw  thee  high  enthroned  ; 
While,  ranged  around,  the  wise,  the  great 

In  thee  their  mistress  own'd  • 


118  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 

And  still  the  same,  thy  gentle  sway 
O'er  willing  subjects  won  its  way  — 
Till  all  confess'd  the  Right  Divine 
To  rule  o'er  man  was  only  thine ! 


Butj  lo,  the  scene  now  changed  again    • 

And  borne  on  plumed  steed, 
I  saw  thee  o'er  the  battle-plain 

Our  land's  defenders  lead ; 
And  stronger  in  thy  beauty's  charms, 
Than  man,  with  countless  hosts  in  arms, 
Thy  voice,  like  music,  cheer'd  the  Frea 
Thy  very  smile  was  victory ! 


Nor  reign  such  queens  on  thrones  alone  — 

In  cot  and  court  the  same. 
Wherever  woman's  smile  is  known, 

Victoria 's  still  her  name. 
For  though  she  almost  blush  to  reign. 
Though  Love's  own  flow'rets  wreath  the  chains 
Disguise  our  bondage  as  we  will, 
*T  is  woman,  woman,  rules  us  alill. 


4iy 


AT  NiGirr. 

Ai  night,  when  all  is  still  around, 
How  sweet  to  hear  the  distant  sound 

Of  footstep,  coming  soft  and  light  i 
What  pleasure  in  the  anxious  beat, 
With  which  the  bosom  flies  to  meet 

That  foot  that  comes  so  soft  at  night ! 

And  then,  at  night,  how  sweet  to  say 
"  T  is  late,  my  love ! "  and  chide  delay, 

Though  still  the  western  clouds  are  bright 
Oh  !  happy,  too,  the  silent  press, 
The  eloquence  of  mute  caress. 

With  those  we  love  exchanged  at  night 


RONDEAU 


•♦  Good  night!  good  night ! "  —  And  is  it  so  ? 

And  must  I  from  my  Rosa  go  ? 

Oh  Rosa,  say  "Good  night!"  once  more, 

And  I  '11  repeat  it  o'er  and  o'er. 

Till  the  first  glance  of  dawning  Jignt 

Shall  find  us  saying,  still,  "  Good  night." 


QS£  M13CEl,LAN>oiJS    POKIEf*. 

And  still  "  Good  night,"  my  Rosa,  say  — 
But  whisper  still,  "  A  minute  stay ; ' 
And  I  will  stay,  and  every  minute 
Shall  have  an  age  of  transport  in  it ; 
Till  Time  himself  shall  stay  his  flight. 
To  listen  to  our  sweet  "  Good  night-" 

"  Good  night !  "  you  '11  munnur  with  a  eigfa, 

And  tell  me  it  is  time  to  fly : 

And  I  will  vow,  will  bwear  to  go, 

While  still  that  sweet  voice  murmung  **  No :  ■ 

Till  slumber  seal  our  weary  sight  — 

And  then,  my  love,  my  soul, '  Good  night  ?  " 


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